The Enemy's Ignorance
by Musicangel913
Summary: Harry, Draco, and Hermione survived fifth year, but it wasn't easy, and it's only about to get worse. Facing unimaginable loss before the summer even starts, they have to face the fact that time is running out. Can they find the missing rings and solve the rest of the Sorting Hat's riddle before it's too late? Twisted canon, part 6.
1. Gone

**A/N: Welcome back! This story is part 6 of my twisted canon series - if you haven't read parts 1-5, I highly recommend doing so before continuing here; too much has changed at this point. Part 1 is called 'Circumstances of an Unexpected Trio' &amp; can be found on my profile. If you've read all up to this point, carry on!**

* * *

Sirius was the first to react, letting loose a string of swear words that would have made a sailor blush. Once he'd exhausted his rather colorful vocabulary, he quickly approached the nearest policeman.

"Excuse me-"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm going to have to ask you to stay back," the officer said, employing a kind but firm tone. "We need to be able to-"

"No, you don't understand," Sirius interrupted, trying not to get impatient as he knew the officer was only doing his job. "I live in that house just there" – he pointed to his own residence – "and the Grangers are longtime family friends."

"I understand, sir, but-"

"I have their daughter with me!" Sirius practically shouted. "And I have reason to believe my wife was in that house when they were attacked!" Of course, Lily was only his wife when they used their aliases in the magical world, but nobody needed to know that – even the rest of their Muggle neighbors didn't know that they weren't married, as they hadn't introduced themselves either way and no one had ever asked. In any case, Sirius knew from hearing about other Order members in similar predicaments that calling Lily his wife would get them through to the scene a lot easier.

"I…well, that changes things," the officer said, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Right this way." He pulled aside one of the barriers blocking the street and motioned the four of them through. A thousand questions bounced around Sirius' head as he walked, none of which he wanted answered. Lily wasn't his wife, not at all, but she was still one of his closest friends, and he'd come to care for her like family over the years they'd shared raising their boys. She wasn't his wife, but if what he feared was true, the pain was going to be just as unbearable.

As they approached the Grangers' house, Sirius could see a team of medics wheeling two stretchers towards the waiting ambulance. At the officer's request, they halted, and a young woman, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, approached.

"Something I can help with, sir?" she asked the officer. He nodded.

"Family members," he said, gesturing towards his companions. "They deserve to know what happened." The blonde woman's face twisted into a grimace, but she nodded resolutely and turned to Sirius.

"Jessica Masterson," she said, offering her hand for Sirius to shake. "I understand you know the Grangers?"

"We've been friends for almost a decade," Sirius replied. "Please, don't beat around the bush – I need to know what happened." Jessica sighed.

"Your neighbor across the road called in the alarm," she said. "Said she heard shouting and saw brightly colored lights, but she couldn't tell us anything more. By the time we got here, it was too late."

"Too late?" Sirius repeated. Of course, he already knew what had happened – if the Dark Mark floating over the house wasn't an obvious clue, the flashing lights reported by his neighbor cemented it – but he still didn't know _who_ they'd gotten.

"The victims were declared dead at the scene," Jessica said quickly, her expression suggesting she'd done this before but still hated being the one to have to break the news. "I'm sorry." She paused for a moment. "I know it's a lot to ask, but we need someone to identify them." Sirius nodded almost robotically and followed Jessica towards the stretchers, the trio shuffling close behind, and he had to bite back tears when the victims' faces were revealed: Lily, and Helen Granger. They bore not a single scratch between them, and Sirius knew that they'd both been hit with the same curse that had taken his best friend's life, and those of so many others. Behind him, Hermione screamed and threw herself into Harry and Draco's arms, the boys both trying in vain to keep their own grief in check as tears flowed freely down their faces. Jessica covered the bodies back up, feeling like an intruder. And yet it was strange – they were clearly upset, but they'd reacted almost as if the victims' unveiling was a confirmation rather than a surprise, and she'd definitely heard the older man – Sirius, was it? – shout about the women being attacked. The rest of her team was just as baffled as she was as to what had happened, as aside from their lack of pulse there was absolutely nothing wrong with the two women – did these four know something she didn't, and if so, what? _How?_

"There's more," the officer said quietly, bringing Jessica out of her thoughts and sending the others scrambling for handkerchiefs. "I'm so sorry to badger you with questions, but we need to know everything we can – will you follow me, please?" Sirius nodded, and the group followed the officer into the Grangers' house. Scorch marks adorned the kitchen walls, and Sirius smiled in spite of himself when he saw blemishes on both sides – so Lily hadn't gone down without a fight. It was the living room, however, that made him stop short. The sight before him was one of the most gruesome he'd ever seen, and considering he'd been involved with the Order since leaving Hogwarts, that was definitely saying something. The Grangers' sofa had been reduced to ashes and the television was face down on the floor, glass littering the carpet, but it was the message on the far wall that caught everyone's attention, the foot-high letters glistening in a sickening shade of crimson:

_Hello Mudblood._

Harry swore under his breath as Hermione slumped to the floor in a dead faint. Draco was staring at the message, his expression unreadable.

"Do any of you know what this means?" the officer asked.

"We do," a deep voice replied from behind, making them all jump. "And I'm afraid it's a matter of national security. The Prime Minister is being informed as we speak. I'm sure you'll understand that we can speak no further."

_"Kingsley to the rescue,"_ Sirius thought as he turned to face his fellow Order member. Kingsley had recently been assigned to guard the Muggle Prime Minister, and Sirius was glad that the dark-skinned Auror was here – he had a knack for keeping things calm and orderly, which was just what they needed. If anyone could explain this situation without arousing too much suspicion from the involved Muggles, it was Kingsley.

The next week was one of the hardest of Sirius' life. He was grateful for the dozens of mourning gifts – mostly food – that he'd received from the Order, but he was having a difficult time coming to terms with the loss. Lily and Helen were gone, and though not a trace of Bob Granger's body had been found, the bloody message on the wall had left little to the imagination – the women had been unmarked, so it was safe to guess that it was Bob's blood staining that wall. What the Death Eaters had done with him was anyone's guess, and Sirius found he really didn't want to know the details.

His main concern was the three grieving teenagers he now cared for alone. Hermione had cried for ages when they'd first gotten back, and she still spent long hours curled up on the couch, clutching a pillow as silent tears poured down her cheeks. Harry retreated to the basement dueling room, where Sirius could hear him demolishing everything he could with his bare hands. Draco, however, was the worst – he'd gone straight upstairs and locked himself in his room, and it wasn't until Sirius noticed the smashed front of the liquor cabinet several hours later that he realized what his young cousin had done. He raced upstairs and broke through Draco's door with a quick _"Alohomora"_ to find the blond unconscious on his bed, a broken, empty bottle discarded on the floor. Firewhisky was potent stuff, and Sirius wasted no time hauling Draco to the bathroom, reviving him, and forcing him to vomit up everything he'd had and then some.

"What were you thinking?" Sirius hissed as he passed Draco a glass of water. "An entire bottle of firewhisky, you could have died-"

"Twice," Draco croaked, his throat sore from the burning alcohol and from throwing up. "Those bastards have taken away my mother _twice._ I can barely remember Narcissa – my birth mother, I can barely remember her! – and now Mum…" He trailed off, choking on a sob that just wouldn't come, and Sirius nearly cried himself when he saw more than a glance of the broken boy he'd taken in more than a decade ago.

"Draco, it's alright," Sirius soothed, gently rubbing the boy's back. "Well, no – it's not alright, it really isn't – but please, don't shut down on me like this. You do that, and they've won. It's so selfish of me to ask you to do this, but please – Harry needs you. Hermione needs you. _I_ need you. We've lost so much – don't make us lose you too. _Please."_ The last word was little more than a prayer, and Draco looked up, his grey eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"How are we not already lost?" Draco whispered, and his tone was so defeated that Sirius' heart broke.

"That is the hardest question of them all," he said quietly, and Draco's walls finally collapsed, the tears flowing thick and fast as he clung to Sirius for all he was worth. Sirius pulled him close and let him cry, his own tears dripping down his chin and off his nose to dampen the boy's hair. It was a long time before Draco's cries quieted and finally stilled, and Sirius realized he'd fallen asleep. As carefully as he could so as not to wake Draco, Sirius scooped the blond up off the floor and carried him back to bed, pulling up the covers and giving him a last lingering look before cleaning up the broken glass of the bottle and heading downstairs to check on his other charges. Hermione was also asleep, curled up on the couch with Crookshanks at her side, and Sirius draped a thick blanket over her and brushed her curls away from her tear-streaked face. Poor girl – Sirius adored her as if she were his own, and if he could, he would have done anything to make her pain go away.

Sirius found Harry in the basement, soaked in sweat and staring at the wall. There hadn't been much down here for Harry to destroy, as the room was mostly just thick padding, but he'd certainly done his best, and his knuckles were bloody and raw. Sirius gently cleaned and healed the cuts with a wave of his wand before taking a seat next to his godson.

"It hurts, Padfoot," Harry said. "It hurts so much."

"I know," Sirius replied. "Believe me, I know."

"Does it get any easier?" Harry asked.

"I wish I could say yes, but I'd be lying," Sirius said with a shake of his head. "I s'pose it does, after a time, but not much. You just have to do what" – he paused and took a deep breath – "do what your mum did after your dad died. Cry it all out, and then make sure they didn't die in vain. That was the promise your mum made to herself that night, and that was the promise every Order member made after we lost anyone – because no matter how many people you lose, no matter how much pain you're in, the one thing you can't lose is hope."

"But why me?" Harry demanded. "Why did Voldemort decide he had to make _my_ life a living hell? _My _family? I could barely even walk or talk!"

"I don't know," Sirius sighed. "Something about you caught his attention – something in that prophecy, the one Trelawney made, made him think of you. Believe me, if I could go back and ensure that prophecy was never made, I would."

"How about you go back and ensure Voldemort was never born?" Harry sniffed. "That'd be better."

"That it would." There was a long pause before Harry spoke again.

"Did you love her, Padfoot – my mum?"

"Yes and no," Sirius said with a small smile. "Yes, I loved her – but not romantically, no."

"Why not?" Harry asked. "Sorry – that probably seems like an odd question. It's just…well, Mum was so kind, and she was certainly pretty enough…" He trailed off as if unsure of how to express his thoughts properly.

"Harry, I'm not denying that your mum was beautiful, both inside and out," Sirius said, turning himself to face his godson. "James wasn't the only one who fantasized about her back at Hogwarts, not by a long shot, but I never did. As pretty as she was, I wasn't a fan of girls who played hard to get – I didn't like to have to work too hard to get a good snog." Harry grimaced, and Sirius chuckled.

"I'll admit it, kid – back at Hogwarts, I got detention for getting caught in broom closets with girls almost as often as I did for pulling pranks with your dad," Sirius said. "Your mum called me a pig more than once for it, but I was too content – and the girls too willing – to care. That is, until we joined the Order."

"What happened when you joined the Order?" Harry asked.

"Not what, but who," Sirius corrected. "Marlene McKinnon – she'd been in our year at school, but none of us knew her all that well, save your mum. She was…different, Marlene. Quiet, but unquestionably loyal, and she did more than her fair share of work for the Order. She was far from what you'd call a great beauty – she was rather plain, actually – but she was the first girl to successfully get me to see past that."

"You fancied her?" Harry guessed.

"Harry, 'fancied' isn't the correct word – I was absolutely mad about her, even more so because unless we were on a mission together, she absolutely refused to give me the time of day. Being friends with Lily, she knew all about my reputation, and she wanted nothing to do with me."

"What happened?" Harry pressed. He felt like a little kid demanding to know the end of a bedtime story.

"We saved each other's lives," Sirius said, the faraway look in his eyes suggesting that he was, at least partially, in another time and place. "There was a massive raid in Devon, and we were outnumbered seven to one, easily. Gideon and Fabian Prewett – Molly Weasley's brothers – were killed that night, and several more of us were lucky to escape with our lives. I pulled Marlene out of the way of a crumbling wall that would have killed her instantly, and in turn, she brewed a potion that stopped a nasty curse from destroying my insides. She'd been training to be a Healer, and I was really lucky." Sirius paused. "For whatever reason, that was the catalyst that brought us together, and she finally agreed to go to dinner with me. We went to your parents' wedding together not long after that, and then she…"

"She what?"

"She said yes," Sirius almost whispered, and Harry didn't have to ask for clarification.

"Merlin, Sirius, I…I never knew," he said quietly. "I'm so sorry."

"We were going to get married the fall after you were born," Sirius continued, choking a little on the words. "But…" He sighed and swallowed heavily. "I'll never forget it. It was early July, just a few weeks before you were born. Mad-Eye came to an Order meeting with the news…she was gone. Her whole family was." Sirius hid his head in his hand for a moment, then looked up again and said, "She was supposed to be your godmother – your mum told me when you were born. In honor of her memory, Lily decided not to choose an alternate."

"I'm sorry," Harry repeated. He'd lived with Sirius for most of his life, and yet he'd never known that his godfather had lost his fiancée, a woman he clearly loved more than anything in the world. He thought of Draco, and the obvious pain he'd been in when Hermione had been hurt at Kings Cross – Draco had been like a caged animal then, and Harry couldn't even imagine how that feeling would have been multiplied had Hermione been killed. Harry knew he'd be extremely upset if Ginny died, and they hadn't even been together all that long. Not knowing what else to do, he scooted closer and wrapped his arms around Sirius, allowing his godfather to rest his head on his shoulder and let his own suppressed emotions out.

"It's been a long time since I've really thought about that," Sirius said with a sniff as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I think about Marlene all the time, but I haven't _really_ thought about the circumstances in years." Harry nodded.

"I understand," he said, then paused. "Although when I was a kid, I always wondered if you were going to marry my mum – and even when I got older, I was still surprised that nothing happened. You two seemed so…natural around each other."

"We had a mutual understanding," Sirius said with a small smile. "An understanding of grief, and of loss. We'd become good friends by the time you were born, and we just got closer when we found ourselves taking care of you together."

"And _nothing_ ever happened?" Harry asked again. He looked like he didn't believe Sirius, who finally sighed and laughed a little.

"You really are too damn perceptive for your own good," he muttered. "Alright, fine – we did have a pretty good snogging session once, right after Draco came to live with us. It was close to the anniversary of both James and Marlene's funerals, Draco was plagued with nightmares that woke him screaming in terror, and you were going through a phase were you were being stubborn and difficult and…I can't even describe it. The combined stress was too much, and that was how we decided to deal with it – of course, we both said afterwards that it would never happen again, and it didn't. It made things awkward for almost a month, and we're lucky we didn't have more serious issues than that, but in an odd way, it helped. Once we got over the embarrassment of the whole thing, we finally moved on, and our family unit actually strengthened as a result." They were quiet for a long time.

"Thank you, Padfoot," Harry finally said, pulling Sirius to him for another hug. "It still hurts, but…I guess it's a little better knowing there are others who understand what I'm going through."

"It does," Sirius agreed. "And like I told your brother earlier, don't forget about him or Hermione either – you three need each other, now more than ever."

"I know – like you said, we've lost a lot, but we can't lose hope."

"That's a good lad." Sirius gave Harry a fond smile, which Harry immediately returned. "Now, as much as I've enjoyed sitting here with you, I think it's time to head upstairs and try to get some sleep. Whether we like it or not, the next few weeks are going to be busy."

* * *

**A/N: That was a hard chapter to write - not because the words wouldn't come, but because of the content. :( Sirius' back story is my own creation, not from canon - next chapter will be quite sad as well, but I think it should get better after that.**

**If you've come this far with me, thank you! Your support - follows, faves, reviews, PMs, etc. - has been nothing short of amazing.**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	2. Saying Goodbye

Just as Sirius had predicted, the next few weeks were indeed very busy. Funeral preparations and the sorting of wills took up most of their time, both tasks complicated by the fact that Hermione's father was – by the Muggle authorities, at least – still considered missing as opposed to deceased. Given what they'd found at the scene and whom they were dealing with, Sirius was positive that Bob Granger was dead, but they had no acceptable explanation for the police, and so they struggled. The only good that came of all the back-and-forth was the satisfaction of Draco's curiosity – while Harry and Sirius met with one Gringotts goblin to go over Lily's will, Draco met with another to discuss the Malfoy vault. The sight awaiting him when the goblin pushed open the vault's door was incredible – Ginny's guess that he could buy all of England really wasn't all that far-fetched – but it was the conversation with the goblin afterwards that Draco found to be the most interesting. Upon Lucius Malfoy's selection of a Black family engagement ring for his bride-to-be, Draco's paternal grandparents had presented the couple with their own gift – a piece of jewelry. It seemed that the choice had been made in utmost secrecy, as the Gringotts records didn't even specify what type of jewelry the gift was – the goblin with whom Draco spoke was only able to tell him that the piece had been in the family for centuries and that it was kept, not at the bank, but at Malfoy Manor. This only intrigued Draco more – the fact that the piece was such a secret suggested that it was either exceptionally old, exceptionally valuable, or exceptionally dangerous.

The morning of the funeral dawned bright and sunny, almost as if it were mocking the mourners. Sirius and the teenagers donned their best clothes and headed to the service, where they were greeted by a small number of family members and close friends. They fidgeted their way through the first part of the funeral, during which the man presiding over it spoke generically about the two deceased women – his monotone didn't help, and Harry was horrified to find himself almost nodding off in the middle of his own mother's funeral. Finally, the man stepped down, and the attendees began filing up to the caskets, both of which were covered in sweet-smelling flowers. Sirius, Harry, Draco, and Hermione hung back, purposely placing themselves at the end of the line rather than the front – they wanted to say goodbye properly, and it felt better to do so in private.

"I love you, Mum," Harry said as he stood before Lily's casket, her smiling picture resting atop it, "I love you, and I miss you. We all do." He bowed his head and bit his lip, offering the photo a watery smile before stepping aside for Draco, who rested a hand on the casket and stared at Lily's image for a long moment.

"You saved my life in more ways than one," he said quietly. "You gave me a family, and I can never, ever repay you for that – thank you." He touched his fingers to his lips and blew the photo a soft kiss, the whisper of an 'I love you' accompanying the gesture. Next to him, Hermione faced her own mother's casket.

"I don't even know what to say," she whispered. "There's so much more to be said, so much more to be done. You're not supposed to be gone…but you are. You gave me so much, Mum, and you're so much more than this picture and this bunch of flowers. You're the dentist with a secret sweet tooth and the best cake recipes in all the world. You're the gardener who painstakingly tended the little patches of flowers every year and proudly displayed the results in vases on the kitchen table. You're the woman who put up with your husband's mad obsession with those nature documentaries and the resulting fact that your daughter knew more about elephants and hippos at age five than most adults. You're the one who was going to teach me to drive because Daddy was too scared to think about his little girl like that. You're…" Hermione broke off and choked on a sob. "You're my mum…God, Mum, I miss you so much." She turned to Lily's casket then, tears running down her face.

"And you…you gave me the most precious gift, Mrs. Potter – see, all those years of you insisting I call you Lily and it never took. Blame Mum's lessons in manners, I suppose." Hermione gave a nervous little laugh and stepped forward so that she stood between Harry and Draco. "You taught me about the Wizarding world and gave me your boys – I love them with everything I am, and I wish I could tell you just one more time how much that means to me." Draco and Harry both wrapped a comforting arm around Hermione's waist as she copied Draco's earlier gesture and blew each casket a kiss. Still entwined, the three left the funeral parlor, unable to face the smiling photos any longer.

* * *

A week after the funeral, Hermione came into the Potter-Black living room, an envelope clutched in her hands.

"What's that?" Harry asked, spotting the envelope.

"The tickets to Boston," Hermione replied quietly. She pulled them out and showed him.

"I'd forgotten all about them, to be honest," Harry said as he stared at them, the details of the trip marching smartly across the papers in black ink.

"They were in my mum's desk." Hermione paused, and then said, "I want to go."

_"What?"_ Harry asked, sounding shocked. Draco and Sirius looked up at the outburst.

"I want to go to Boston," Hermione repeated. "You probably think I'm mental, but…don't you see, Harry? We have to find those rings, we _have to,_ and this might be our only chance to find out anything about Ravenclaw's!"  
"Hermione," Sirius said cautiously, "Is that really the best idea? After…well…"

"It's because of everything that's happened that I really want to go," Hermione replied, her tone quiet yet fierce. "The Death Eaters…they took away my m-mum and dad, Padfoot. I can't let them win. I just c-can't." Hermione shuddered and a few traitorous tears slipped from her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away.

"But there are only three tickets," Draco said softly, gesturing to the pieces of paper Hermione still held in her hand. "Who's going to go with you?"

"You three can't all go," Sirius interrupted quietly. The teenagers' heads all turned to look at him where he lay on the couch.

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Harry, after such a blatant attack, do you really think I can let you three go off on your own, especially to another country?" Sirius asked, his expression pained. "Merlin, if this were any normal circumstance, I'd gladly let you go off on a vacation – you're old enough and you certainly deserve it – but I can't. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything happened to you."

"It's ok, Padfoot," Hermione said softly, going over and wrapping her arms around him comfortingly. "I understand."

"But then what do we do?" Draco asked, sounding frustrated. "Lotte's right – we can't just give up."

"And we won't," Sirius agreed. "There's an Order meeting tomorrow night, and I'll make sure this is on the agenda. If we can get somebody from the Order to go with you, that would be best."

"But that's not the only place we need to go," Harry said.

"Pardon?"

"Remember what we talked about at Easter? Mum…Mum suggested that we go to Godric's Hollow, to talk to Bathilda Bagshot, and she said that she wrote her and got her permission to visit. And Draco still needs to go to Malfoy Manor." Sirius sighed.

"You three can never keep things easy, can you?" he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Alright – I'll make sure we talk about all of it tomorrow. S'pose I'd best go owl Dumbledore then."

* * *

Sirius actually did them one better and got permission from Dumbledore for the three teenagers to attend the Order meeting – or at least, the parts of it pertaining to their needs; the headmaster kindly but firmly refused to let them sit in on the whole thing, as they were all still underage. On the appointed night, they found themselves in the basement kitchen of Grimmauld Place with a number of Order members, including the most recent recruits of the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan. Mrs. Weasley served them all a scrumptious beef stew, and Dumbledore began the meeting.

"As you all are no doubt aware, we have guests this evening," he said. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, Miss Granger – welcome. Unless I am very much mistaken, you have something you wish to bring to the Order's attention tonight?"

"We do, sir," Harry replied, standing up from his seat halfway down the table. "Three years ago, the Sorting Hat spoke a prophecy, which we believe pertains to Voldemort and our plans to bring him down. The prophecy spoke of a legend, one known as the Legend of the Founders' Rings." With Dumbledore's permission, Harry, Draco, and Hermione had decided to tell the Order everything they knew about the legend, and they explained it all as best they could.

"Hermione's parents purchased three tickets to the United States for the express purpose of visiting the Salem Witches' Institute," Harry said. "That school was founded by descendants of Rowena Ravenclaw, and we believe they might be able to help us locate her ring. We would also like to go to Godric's Hollow to speak with Bathilda Bagshot, the author of _A History of Magic,_ to see if she can help us as well."

"That sounds like a good start," Mr. Weasley said approvingly, and several others nodded. "What exactly did you need from us, Harry?"

"Chaperones," Sirius replied. "The three of them certainly can't go traipsing off to America by themselves, and I wouldn't be surprised if Voldemort expects Harry to turn up in Godric's Hollow at some point."

"I'm game," Tonks said at once. "When do we leave?" Hermione shot the pink-haired witch a grateful smile.

"Before we decide that, I'd like to add something," Draco cut in quickly. He was a bit nervous that the Order wasn't going to like what he had to say.

"Go on, then," Mr. Weasley said with a nod. Draco took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

"I need to go to Malfoy Manor."

Just as he'd suspected, there was an immediate outburst at his words.

"Malfoy Manor?"

"Voldemort's former headquarters?"

"Oh, you can't mean that-"

"Enough," Dumbledore interjected firmly. "Mr. Black speaks the truth – he must go to Malfoy Manor, and soon."

"Albus," Mrs. Weasley protested. "That place can't possibly be safe! He's just a boy!"

"He _must_ go, Molly," Dumbledore said. "Lucius Malfoy is dead, and so the property has rightfully passed to his son and heir. Draco must go to reset the wards and claim what is his – if he does not, the estate remains accessible to all who are authorized under the current wards, and given the value of both the estate and what it contains, we cannot afford to let that happen."

"What do you mean, 'what it contains'?" Lee Jordan asked.

"I would not be surprised if Malfoy Manor still contains a number of Dark artifacts," Dumbledore said. "With so many Death Eaters on the loose, it would be most unwise to allow them access to the house – and, of course, I don't think Mr. Black would appreciate his possessions being stolen, at any rate," he added, his blue eyes twinkling in Draco's direction.

"Can we spare three people?" Kingsley asked.

"Three?" Mrs. Weasley questioned.

"Yes, three – the best course of action would be to complete all three of these trips in as little time as possible so we can keep Voldemort's forces as unaware as possible. Young Draco needs to reset his wards as soon as he can, and unless I heard wrong, I believe Miss Granger said her tickets are for a specific date in the very near future?" Kingsley looked to Hermione for confirmation, and she nodded.

"The departure date is this Saturday," she said.

"Then I propose we coordinate arrivals and departures around those tickets," Kingsley said calmly.

"I'll go with Hermione," Tonks said. "I'm not on assignment at the moment, and I've never been to America – sounds like fun."

"Who gets the third ticket?" Fred asked. "I don't know much about Muggle transportation, but I was under the impression that it's expensive – it seems a shame to waste it."

"Ginny," Tonks replied immediately.

"Ginny's not in the Order!" Mrs. Weasley protested. "Why would you suggest Ginny?"

"On the contrary, Molly, I think it's an excellent idea," Lupin said. "Haven't you been saying for the last few weeks that Ginny's constantly badgering you to let her be involved in some way? She can't join the Order yet, but I don't see why she can't go with Hermione and Tonks – they are going to a school, after all; I'm sure the trip will be quite educational." The trio had to keep themselves from laughing at that particular tactic, but Hermione was inwardly crossing her fingers – if Harry and Draco couldn't go with her, Ginny was definitely her next choice.

"Think of it as a girls' trip," Mr. Weasley suggested. "Besides, we've already got one Order member going – seems a bit foolish to send another if we don't have to."

"Oh, alright," Mrs. Weasley sighed. "If nothing else, it will get Ginny out from underfoot for a while." Hermione rushed forward and hugged the older woman.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "It means a lot to me that you're letting Ginny come with us." Mrs. Weasley still looked worried, but her gaze softened as she looked at Hermione – the Order, of course, all knew what had happened in Surrey, and many had attended the funeral.

It didn't take long for them to iron out the rest of the details – Sirius would take Harry to Godric's Hollow while Lupin accompanied Draco to Malfoy Manor, and they would all meet up at Hogwarts the day after Hermione's group returned to England.

"Why Hogwarts?" Tonks asked. "Why wouldn't we all just come back to Grimmauld Place?"

"If you succeed in finding any of the rings, it would be best to get them to Hogwarts as soon as possible," Dumbledore replied. "While the security here is excellent, Hogwarts is by far the safest place for them." Nobody could argue with that, and Dumbledore agreed to arrange special Portkeys that would transport each group directly to his office on the appointed day.

* * *

The next few days passed in a whirlwind of activity. Nobody was quite sure how they managed it, but the Order obtained Muggle passports for both Ginny and Tonks by Thursday afternoon, a feat they'd thought impossible given that the task usually took weeks – or even months – to complete through the normal channels. The three young women spent that day shopping for summer wear in Muggle London while Hermione answered dozens of questions for a very eager Ginny. They'd all been out of the country before – Hermione had gone to France, Ginny to Egypt, and Tonks to Ireland – but Hermione was the only one who had been on a plane, and Ginny had hardly ever ventured into the Muggle world at all, so Hermione was kept busy getting the redhead up to speed. Finally, everything was ready, and all that was left to do was wait. By the time the group arrived at Heathrow Airport on Saturday afternoon, Hermione thought Ginny was going to burst from excitement.

Hermione sucked in a long breath when the time came for them to part. Since the holidays began, she, Harry, and Draco hadn't left each other's company unless absolutely necessary – they'd even dragged a mattress downstairs and magically enlarged it so that they could all sleep together, their need for comfort high since the attack. Now, they were going to be apart for over a week. She hugged Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, and Sirius goodbye before turning to Harry and throwing her arms around him.

"I'll miss you," she said as she hugged him.

"I'll miss you too, Maya," Harry replied, gently stroking her hair. "We'll be together soon, I promise." Hermione squeezed him a little tighter in response, then slowly released him and stood on her toes to give him a sisterly kiss on the cheek.

"Be safe," she said softly. Harry nodded, and Hermione turned to Draco.

"Dragon…" Her arms wrapped around his neck while his slid to her waist.

"Find that ring, Lotte," Draco replied. "Find that ring and bring it back home to Hogwarts where it belongs. If anyone can do it, it's you." He leaned forward until their foreheads touched, and the two stood like that for a long moment. Hermione then broke the tableau and cupped Draco's face in her hands, pulling him close and kissing him fiercely.

"Please be careful," Hermione said when the kiss ended, hating the fact that she was nearly begging. "I know you have to go to the manor, but please…"

"Constant vigilance?" Draco suggested in an attempt to cheer her up. He was rewarded with a small smile and an incredulous laugh as Hermione shook her head at him.

"Yes," she whispered. "Constant vigilance." It was Draco who closed the gap this time, and they exchanged fond smiles when they finally broke apart.

"I love you."

"Always."

The couple gently disengaged from one another – not far away, Ginny did the same with Harry – and the three young women picked up their bags and headed towards their gate, turning back to blow their companions one last kiss before they disappeared from view.

* * *

**A/N: Happy Marathon Monday! Yup, it's a holiday around here today, so in honor of the occasion, I give you chapter 2 on Monday instead of the usual Wednesday (see Justin, I kept my promise! Ha) Up next are their travels - the next several chapters take place simultaneously, &amp; I am hard at work on them so I can get them to you as soon as possible. We have this whole week off, lots of writing time. Draco's Malfoy Manor chapters are already done, &amp; I'm really excited to share them with you!**

**A big thanks to all of you who've continued following this tale in any way - I really appreciate it!**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	3. Welcome to Boston

In spite of her nervousness over leaving Harry and Draco behind, Hermione couldn't help but smile as she watched Ginny board the plane. The youngest Weasley's face was lit up like a child's at Christmas as she eagerly examined everything from the overhead luggage racks to the pattern on the seats, and Hermione had to remind her – albeit gently, so as not to spoil her fun – to keep her voice down.

"This is all perfectly ordinary to Muggles," Hermione said as she pointed out their seats. "They'll think something's off if you keep going on like that."

"I do sound a bit like Dad, don't I?" Ginny replied with a sheepish grin. Mr. Weasley worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department at the Ministry of Magic and had a large collection of odds and ends – batteries, broken televisions, plugs, even an old Ford Anglia – in his garage, all of which he tinkered with and exclaimed over on a regular basis.

"There's nothing wrong with that," Hermione said, patting Ginny's arm. "I happen to think your dad is wonderful. Now, do you want the window seat?" Ginny perked up instantly.

"Absolutely!" she said. Then she frowned and added, "Are you sure you don't? It's awfully rude of me to just take it from you." Hermione laughed.

"Gin, it's fine – I've been on one of these before, remember? And I know I like Quidditch and all, but aeroplanes go much, _much_ higher than broomsticks, and I'm definitely not a fan of that extra height. The middle seat is just fine for me, thanks." Tonks accepted the aisle seat without complaint – her long legs appreciated the extra space to stretch out, even if the difference was miniscule – and the girls stored their luggage overhead before settling down to wait for takeoff. Ginny let out a little squeak of excitement when her seatbelt clicked into place, and Hermione offered each of them a piece of chewing gum to help with the changing pressure. The flight crew welcomed them aboard and explained the safety regulations, and then they were off, speeding down the runway and leaving British soil behind. Ginny pressed her nose to the glass of the little window and watched with wide-eyed wonder as greater London grew steadily smaller and eventually disappeared.

"Now what?" she asked. Hermione laughed.

"We sit," she said. "Sit, and wait, and maybe get some sleep. They'll probably serve food, since it's at least a six-hour flight."

_"Six hours?"_ Ginny's eyes widened for the thousandth time since they'd reached the airport. "Merlin, Muggles are slow!"

"And yet we're still traveling four or five times faster than even a Firebolt can go," Hermione said with an amused smile. "You brought a book, didn't you? Why don't you read for a bit until they serve dinner?" On Hermione's other side, Tonks was already absorbed in a magazine.

"I've got a few more of these, if you'd rather," she offered, holding hers out so they could see. At first glance, it looked like a Muggle news magazine, but when the girls looked closely, they could tell it was actually a cleverly glamoured issue of _Witch Weekly._

"Since when do you read that?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows raised.

"Well, the recipes don't do me any good, since I'm rubbish in the kitchen, but I always like to take a look at the rest of it." Tonks wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "You never know when you might need a few good tricks up your sleeve."

_"Tonks!"_ Tonks shrugged unashamedly.

"What? You both have boyfriends – never underestimate the power of feminine charm."

Ginny and Hermione burst out laughing – Tonks was such a klutzy tomboy that they just couldn't associate her with anything overly 'feminine'. They'd been unsuccessful in convincing her to buy even one sundress for this trip – when they suggested something for a nice dinner out, Tonks had come back with lightweight slacks and a blouse, and they'd had to accept that that was the best they were going to get from her before admitting defeat.

"Oh, it's true and you know it," Tonks muttered with a roguish grin. She was looking oddly normal at the moment, her typically pink hair a shade of dark brown, wearing jeans and well-worn trainers. Her purple t-shirt bore the Weird Sisters' logo, but as Muggles wore plenty of strange things themselves, it hadn't been given so much as a second glance. A simple silver bracelet bearing her initials, a gift from her parents, hung on her wrist – Tonks was rarely overly sentimental, but this bracelet was an exception, and she rarely took it off.

Hermione toyed with her own bracelet as Ginny accepted a magazine and began to page through it. The bracelet, a joint Christmas present from Harry and Draco in their fourth year, had three tiny charms – as Harry had promised, the book and broomstick had changed once they'd all mastered the Patronus Charm, so now the bracelet had a Kneazle, a mongoose, and a wolf. There were also protective spells worked into the metal – Hermione didn't know what they were or what they did, but it was still one of her most treasured possessions. Smiling slightly at the memory of receiving it – and of that evening's Yule Ball, after which she and Draco had shared their first kiss – Hermione settled back into her seat with a favorite book.

Ginny was far less enamored of Muggle transportation by the time they reached Boston, and Hermione didn't blame her – they were all tired, sore, and stiff from the long flight, the food had left a lot to be desired, and though it was barely night in their new location, it was already the wee hours of the morning back home. The girls slowly trudged off the plane and through passport control. Thanks to Undetectable Extension and Weightlessness charms, they didn't have any luggage besides their carry-on bags, and so they immediately began searching for their ride. Finally, they found a lone dark-haired woman standing by the wall with a small sign reading 'Hermione and friends'.

"Aunt Diane," Hermione greeted, coming forward to wrap her arms around the woman.

"Oh, it's so good to see you, Hermione. I'm so sorry to hear about your parents – if there's anything I can do for you, just let me know."

"Thank you," Hermione said gratefully. Diane wasn't actually Hermione's aunt, but they treated each other like family. Originally from the States but having moved to Britain for university, Diane had taken Helen under her wing when she'd found the younger woman crying in the halls of their apartment building during Helen's first year of dental school. Helen was a bright student, eager to please, but she didn't have many friends, and the stress had finally gotten to her. Diane, who was already out of school and worked in a local library, had brought the distressed girl inside, fixed her a cup of tea, and encouraged her to let it all out. They'd been inseparable ever since – Diane was the maid of honor at Helen and Bob's wedding, and she doted on Hermione as if she were her own. There was no question to whom Hermione owed her love of reading, either, as Diane's specialty was children's literature. Eventually, however, Diane had grown homesick for the United States and had moved back when Hermione was small, though they still corresponded regularly. Hermione knew that her parents' death would have affected Diane almost as much as it had affected herself, and her presence was a great comfort.

"Aunt Diane, I'd like you to meet my friends, Ginny and Tonks," she said, presenting each of them in turn. The girls murmured their own greetings and offered their hands, which Diane warmly shook.

"Welcome to Boston – any friend of Hermione's is a friend of mine," she said. "Now, I'm betting you're all tired after your trip, so let's get you settled – we can save the stories for tomorrow."

Their final destination was just a short drive from the airport, and they were soon pulling into the drive of a modest Colonial home. Diane lived alone but had visitors often, and as such her two guest rooms were more than equipped for their needs. After being reassured by Hermione that everything was fine, Diane left the girls to their own devices, and it wasn't long before they were snuggled in bed, the soft chirping of crickets lulling them to sleep.

Aunt Diane had a scrumptious breakfast of pancakes, bacon, and eggs waiting when they woke up, and it was during this meal that she broached the subject of their stay.

"Your mother said something about visiting Salem – something connected to your own school?" she said. Ginny and Tonks froze, unsure of how to proceed, but Hermione merely nodded. The Statute of Secrecy was important, but Muggle-borns also had the right to tell their families the truth, and as far as Hermione was concerned, Diane was family. At the very least, she felt she owed Diane the truth about her longtime friends' deaths.

"About that," Hermione said, twirling a bit of pancake in her maple syrup. She chewed and swallowed thoughtfully, mulling over her words. "There's something I need to tell you." Ginny and Tonks' heads shot up, and Hermione shook her head reassuringly.

"She's family," she insisted. The other two nodded in acceptance and understanding and went back to their breakfasts, keeping one ear on the conversation.

"There's something I need to tell you," Hermione repeated. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Aunt Diane…I'm a witch."

Hermione expected some sort of reaction – a cry of disbelief, maybe, or raised eyebrows at the very least – but Diane merely smiled softly.

"You…you believe me?" Hermione asked in shock. Diane chuckled.

"Hermione, honey, I'm a children's librarian – when you've read as many books as I have, at least a part of you starts to believe that anything is possible," she said. "Besides, I always knew there was something special about you."

"I…wow," Hermione said. "That was…easier than I thought." She laughed nervously. "I'm sorry to say I can't actually show you any magic – we'd have the American Ministry on our backs before we could even blink – but it's true. That boarding school I've been attending for the last five years? I'm learning magic there, and it's wonderful."

"And there's another magic school in Salem?" Diane guessed.

"Yes – the Salem Witches' Institute. We think they might be able to help us find something we're looking for, something that once belonged to one of the founders of our school."

"And do you two go to Hermione's school as well?" Diane asked, turning to Ginny and Tonks.

"I actually finished school several years ago, but Ginny's in the year below Hermione," Tonks replied with a nod.

"But see, there's…well, there's a terrible war going on in the Wizarding world right now," Hermione explained. "There's a group of people who believe that Muggle-borns – people with non-magic parents, people like me – don't belong, and they're not above torturing and killing to get what they want. It's how…it's how Mum and Dad died; I'm best friends with the boy who's sort of the leader of the opposition, and they targeted us." Her description of Harry was a bit loose, but Hermione didn't feel like getting into an explanation of prophecies and the like.

"Oh, Hermione," Diane said, sympathy in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, sweetie. You really think there's something that can help you here?"

"Yes," Hermione said firmly. "This object – well, it's one of a set, you see, and they're enchanted to help protect our school. If we can get them all together again, it will be a huge help."

"I honestly don't know what I can do to help, but you're welcome to stay as long as you need to," Diane said.

"Thank you, really," Hermione replied with a small smile. "We're still waiting to hear from Salem – I contacted them before we left England, but it could be a day or two before we get a response. You might not be able to help with our search, but perhaps you could show us around Boston? This is our first trip to the States, and we'd like to make the most of it."

"Of course," Diane agreed at once. "Boston is a wonderful city – I'd love to share it with you."

After breakfast, the four women made their way into the city via what Diane called 'the T' – Boston's version of the Underground, although Hermione thought it was much slower, and the trains were quite warm due to the rapidly rising temperatures outside; as far north as it was, Boston could get very hot in the summertime. For the rest of the day, they took in all that Muggle Boston had to offer. They explored the Public Garden, which had boats shaped like swans lazily cruising the waterways, and little statues of ducklings that Diane said were modeled after a famous American children's book. They enjoyed the many species of fish, penguins, sharks, and even a giant turtle at the New England Aquarium, and Diane treated them all to cups of thick, creamy clam chowder from the stalls at Quincy Market. Ginny in particular took an immediate liking to the stuff and went back for seconds, much to everyone else's amusement. After they ate, they wandered back down to the water by the aquarium and watched the many boats come in, and by the time they returned to Diane's home for the night, they were exhausted but pleased with all they'd seen.

"There's still quite a bit more to see," Diane said as they sat down to dinner. "If you're up for it, we'll have to walk the Freedom Trail tomorrow."

"What's that?" Ginny asked interestedly.

"You'll see," Diane replied with a smile.

There was an owl waiting for Hermione the next morning – the people at Salem had agreed to speak with them and requested that they meet their guides the following afternoon.

"Aunt Diane, do you know where this is?" Hermione asked, showing Diane the meeting location given in the note.

"That's near Harvard," she said. "I'll write up directions for you – it shouldn't be too difficult to find."

"Thank you."

"Of course."

Their second day was spent walking the Freedom Trail, a two-and-a-half-mile tour of important historical sites throughout Boston. As Ginny and Tonks had both had little to no exposure to Muggle history and Hermione had only studied it in primary school, all three were fascinated by the tour and enjoyed it very much, though their protesting feet could have done without the trek up Bunker Hill. England, of course, had sites that were far older than those on the Freedom Trail, and their status as both foreigners and witches meant they didn't have much of a connection to what they were seeing, but it was still fun to learn a little more about their current host city. After a nap and a quick shower, the girls dressed up and joined Diane for dinner at her favorite seafood restaurant, eagerly sampling the local favorites of lobster, cod, and more clam chowder.

They spent the better part of the following morning going over what they wanted to say in Salem, and then Diane drove them to the closest T stop.

"Good luck!" she called as they disappeared into the station. As they didn't know how long their trip would take, the girls had brought their bags with them and hadn't arranged a meeting time or place with Diane, but thanks to Tonks' Apparition license, they'd be able to return to her home at any time. They clambered down the stairs, swiped their tickets, and hopped on the next available train, eventually disembarking at Harvard Square.

* * *

**A/N: So now the girls are in Boston - yay! We'll be alternating POVs for the next few chapters (since, as I said in my last A/N, they all take place at the same time) - next chapter we'll go to Godric's Hollow. I have 5 of the 6 chapters relating to their trips written (I've written over 14,000 words since Monday), so expect another update soon!**

**Hermione's Aunt Diane is a tribute to my own 'Aunt Diane', who, in addition to my mom, definitely gets the credit for my love of reading. Truly wonderful woman.**

**Thank you to everyone who has followed/faved/reviewed/read so far!**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	4. Visiting Old Friends

Harry and Sirius had decided to leave for Godric's Hollow three days before the rendezvous at Hogwarts. Godric's Hollow wasn't very big, Sirius had said, and could very easily be seen in its entirety in a matter of hours, but they had to take into account that Bathilda Bagshot might not be able to meet with them right away. As it would be a short trip, their bags were packed in a matter of minutes, which left Harry with several days of nothing. He tried tackling his summer homework and playing chess with Draco to pass the time, but neither proved an adequate distraction – both boys were too preoccupied with the girls' absence to really concentrate on anything. Harry also would have been lying if he'd said he wasn't anxious about the trip – in addition to speaking with one of the most noted magical historians in the world, he'd also have the opportunity to visit his parents' graves, and he wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to feel about that.

Harry ate very little the morning of their departure, which was probably for the best – in addition to his nerves, he was facing travel by Side-Along Apparition, which was definitely _not_ one of his preferred modes of transportation; it always made him feel disoriented and nauseous. Once they'd finished brushing their teeth and triple-checked that they had everything, Harry and Sirius bid the rest of Grimmauld Place's residents goodbye and stepped out into the deserted street. Sirius glanced around to make sure they were truly alone, then clasped Harry's hand and turned on the spot, a distinct _pop_ the only evidence that they'd been there at all.

Harry groaned and bent over with his hands on his knees as soon as he felt his feet make contact with solid ground. Even with a practically empty stomach, he still felt terrible.

"Side-Along really messes with you, doesn't it?" Sirius said sympathetically, rummaging in his pack. He produced a small vial of bright purple liquid and offered it to Harry, who eyed it apprehensively.

"Trust me, it'll help," Sirius said, and Harry popped the cork and swallowed the contents in one gulp, sighing when his vision cleared almost instantly. The nausea too was gone, and Harry smiled gratefully as he handed back the empty vial.

"How did you know you'd need that?" Harry asked, gesturing to the vial as Sirius put it back in his bag.

"Harry, I know we didn't take you around via Side-Along very often, but I'd have to be blind not to notice how sick you got every time we tried," Sirius said. "Besides, I've been carrying this stuff since long before you were born – James was even worse, used to practically faint at the mere thought of Apparating."

"My dad didn't like Apparition either?" Harry asked. He, of course, knew so very little about his father, and even though it was an odd trait to share, it still felt nice to know they had something in common.

"You inherited more from him than just your aversion to Apparition," Sirius said with a chuckle, almost as if he'd read Harry's thoughts. "Your Quidditch talent, for one, and of course you could pass for his twin save that you've got your mum's eyes." Sirius smiled fondly. "You remind me a lot of your dad – but maybe we could walk while we talk? Seems kind of stupid to just stand in the alley all day, doesn't it?" Harry grinned sheepishly and looked around. They were indeed standing in a narrow alley between two buildings and would probably get odd looks from passersby if they stayed there for too long.

"Lead the way," he said, and followed Sirius out of the alley.

Godric's Hollow was a truly charming little village, Harry thought, the quaint shops surrounding the village square looking like they'd walked right out of some medieval tapestry. A war memorial, large and shiny and looking rather out of place in its old-fashioned setting, sat in the middle of the square next to a bubbling fountain, and there was a small stone church a short distance down the main road. Other smaller roads branched off from the square in all directions, leading to little clusters of cottages. People bustled about the square, visiting the shops and occasionally stopping to chat with friends or neighbors. Harry could immediately see why his parents had liked this place – Wizarding history aside, it was incredibly warm and welcoming.

"Shall we?" Sirius said. He gestured towards a two-story inn bearing a proud sign proclaiming it 'The Golden Lion'.

"Well, that's not obvious at all," Harry said with a snort, gesturing to the sign. "I thought this was a Muggle village as well?"

"It is," Sirius explained as they walked towards the inn. "Both wizards and Muggles have lived here since this town was founded – quite harmoniously, I might add, although of course the Muggles don't suspect anything. You won't find any blatant Wizarding shops here, but some places do cater to both crowds – the chemist is also an apothecary, for instance, and this inn serves excellent butterbeer. You just have to know who your fellow wizards are so that you don't accidentally ask a Muggle employee for rat spleens or newt tails or anything like that." They'd reached the entrance to the inn by the time Sirius finished his explanation, and he pushed open the door, motioning Harry inside.

The interior of the Golden Lion was cozy and brightly lit, and Harry noted the red-and-gold color scheme with both amusement and pride. Scrubbed wooden tables – all of them empty at the moment, as it was still too early for any sort of lunch crowd – were scattered throughout the room, a long counter took up most of the back wall, and a narrow staircase in the far corner led to the guest rooms. A dark-haired man with a thick beard stood behind the counter, and he nearly dropped the glass he was polishing when he caught sight of his guests.

"Merlin's beard!" he exclaimed. "If that's not a face I thought I'd never see again!"

"Mr. O'Malley, good to be back!" Sirius replied jovially.

"Lad, it's 'Patrick', you ought to know that by now," the older man scolded, though his grin didn't fade. He set down the glass and his washrag, and the two men warmly shook hands.

"What brings you 'round these parts?" Patrick asked. "I'm betting I haven't seen you in fifteen years, my boy! And who's your companion?"

"Close enough to fifteen years, anyway," Sirius replied. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Do you remember my godson, Pat? My godson Harry?"

"Merlin's beard," Patrick said again. "You can't be Harry Potter? The last I saw you, you were but a babe in arms! But goodness, do you favor your father…" He studied Harry for a long moment, then said, "Look at me, forgetting my good manners. Name's Patrick O'Malley, Mr. Potter. Very pleased to meet you." Harry accepted the firm handshake, deciding immediately that he liked this man.

"Likewise, Mr. O'Malley," he replied. The older man laughed.

"Call me Patrick, lad – everyone does. Now, what brings you two to sleepy little Godric's Hollow on this fine summer morning?"

"We're hoping to talk to Bathilda Bagshot," Sirius explained. "Hoping she can help us with some Order business."

"Old Bathilda, eh?" Patrick said. "Well, I can definitely put in a word for you this afternoon if you like – been taking care of provisions and the like for her for years now that she can't walk too well."

"That would be perfect, thank you," Sirius replied.

"And I suppose you'll be visiting James?" Patrick inquired.

"Lily as well," Sirius said, his grin fading.

"Merlin, I hadn't heard that! When?"

"Not even a month ago – the day Harry came home for the summer holidays, actually. They got both Lily and Harry's friend's mum."

"I'm terribly sorry," Patrick said. "For both of you – Lily was a lovely girl."

"Patrick O'Malley, who're you dallyin' talkin' to when there's work to be done?" a woman's voice called, her prominent Irish accent reminding Harry of Seamus Finnigan.

"I think you'd take that back if you saw _who_ I was talking to, my dear," Patrick responded, a twinkle in his eye. "Come see who decided to drop in!" The door behind the counter opened to reveal a plump woman with pretty features and kind eyes, her deep auburn hair twisted in a knot at the nape of her neck. She wore a crisp apron over her clothes and carried a broom in one hand.

"Sweet Mary, mother of God!" she exclaimed, dropping the broom as her hands flew to her chest in shock. "If it isn't young Sirius Black!"

"In the flesh," Sirius replied, bowing deeply. "Lovely to see you, Siobhan." The woman – Siobhan, Harry presumed – fanned herself with her hand for a moment.

"Nearly fifteen years it's been!" she scolded. "Were you not plannin' on comin' back, then? Just up and left without a word?" She bustled around the counter and enveloped Sirius in a hug. "Oh, just look at you," she said fondly, pulling back to study him with a smile. "'Tis wonderful to see you."

"Harry, this is Siobhan, Patrick's wife," Sirius said. "Siobhan, this is Harry Potter."

"Not James and Lily's baby?" she gasped. "All grown up!" Sirius caught Siobhan up to speed, and she frowned when he concluded his tale.

"Oh, you poor child," she said sympathetically as she pulled Harry into a hug this time. "Losin' your ma and da like that…o' course, I don't know much about it, but they were good people, your parents, very good people."

"Don't know much about what?" Harry asked, confused.

"Ah, I suppose I didn't tell you, did I?" Siobhan chuckled. "I'm just a Muggle, my boy – not a drop o' magic in me. Patrick here went to Hogwarts, but I certainly never did." Harry nodded in understanding.

The quartet spent another good hour or so chatting about this and that before sitting down to a lunch of hearty Irish stew at Siobhan's insistence. The dish was an old family recipe and was absolutely delicious, and Harry thanked the couple for their generous hospitality as he and Sirius were shown to their room, which was homey and comfortable.

"Anything for a longtime friend," Patrick replied, insisting for the hundredth time that it was no trouble. "Anything else you need, come find one of us – we'll be around." After yet another round of thanks, Harry and Sirius left the inn. They perused the other shops for close to twenty minutes before they finally made their way to the one place they both really wanted to go – the little stone church, and the graveyard beyond.

Compared to the activity in the town square, the graveyard was very quiet. There was only one other person present, a young woman who was on her knees in front of a nearby grave, her head bowed and her lips moving soundlessly. Respecting her privacy, Harry and Sirius skirted around and made for the other end of the graveyard, gazing at the different headstones as they went. Harry was surprised to see so many surnames he recognized – there were some belonging to his classmates at Hogwarts, and he stared for a long time at a grave marked 'Dumbledore'. The inscription informed him that 'Kendra Dumbledore, and her daughter Ariana' lay buried there, and Harry couldn't help but wonder who they were. They had to be related to his headmaster – the surname wasn't exactly a common one, was it? – yet Dumbledore had never once mentioned having a connection to Godric's Hollow. The dates on the tombstone showed they had both died over a hundred years ago – upon seeing this, Harry was inclined to think that Kendra had been Dumbledore's grandmother, but then he remembered that wizards could live significantly longer than Muggles even without the aid of spells or elixirs. Dumbledore himself had to be at least a century old, if not more – so perhaps Kendra and Ariana were an aunt and cousin?

"His mother and sister," Sirius said, coming up behind him and answering his unspoken question. Harry stared at the engraving.

"What happened?" he asked. Ariana Dumbledore had only been fourteen when she'd died…

"I don't know," Sirius said. "Nobody does, except for him and Aberforth – Dumbledore's brother, you know, he runs the Hog's Head. It's a wonder anyone even knows they _had_ a sister – they never talk about her." Harry dropped the subject then, sensing that Sirius wasn't exaggerating how little he knew about it, and moved away to explore the other markers. He found a handful of other names he recognized, plus an ancient-looking tombstone with an odd symbol resembling a circle and a vertical line inside a triangle, before he stopped short in front of a white marble slab. Never mind whatever else he'd found, this was what he'd been searching for – his parents' grave.

The grave was simple, bearing only his parents' names and their dates of birth and death, but Harry didn't care that there wasn't anything fancy about it. What mattered far more was what the marker represented, the two people now sleeping peacefully beneath the grass under his feet. Harry sank to his knees and slowly ran his fingers over their names, tracing each groove with care.

"Hey, Mum," he said softly. "Dad. It's me, Harry." He sat down properly on the grass, crossing his legs under him. "You must think I'm a bit mad, talking to a headstone, but there you go. I…" He paused, sniffed, and chuckled. "This is harder than I thought – did anyone ever tell you how hard this is? Sitting here, talking to you like this?" He paused again. "I miss you, Mum – I miss you so much. And Dad…Dad, I hardly even knew you. What would it have been like, if things were different? Everyone always tells me I take after you in so many ways – Quidditch, and apparently you hated Apparition even more than I do – but how would things have been if I'd really known you? It's not the same, is it?" He paused again, a soft breeze the only answer to his questions.

"Padfoot's here with me – he took me to meet Patrick and Siobhan, at the Golden Lion. Really nice people. Patrick said he's going to talk to Bathilda Bagshot for us, which is really good of him. Hermione's off in America with Ginny and Tonks, and Draco's leaving for Malfoy Manor in a few days. He hasn't said so, but I think he's a bit nervous – but Lupin's going with him, so he should be alright." The breeze rippled through again.

"It isn't fair," Harry continued, his eyes beginning to water. "It isn't fair that I'm here, and you're not – there's still so many things we needed to do, Mum. I haven't gotten my O.W.L. marks yet. I haven't learned how to Apparate, or finished school, or gotten married. I haven't defeated Voldemort yet – and I will, Mum, I really will. I don't know how, it seems impossible and I'm really scared and I don't even know where to start, but I will, if only so that you didn't sacrifice yourself for nothing, because I can't have let that happen, I just can't." The tears began to fall freely now, and Harry unsuccessfully tried to wipe them away. He could sense that Sirius was somewhere nearby but keeping his distance, allowing Harry to have some time alone before paying his own respects.

"I love you," he said. "I love you both so, so much." He dropped his head on his knees and let himself cry, the breeze ruffling the grass all around him. As his tears slowed and finally ceased, Harry noticed that the breeze felt just a little bit like a caress, and he smiled to himself at the thought that maybe he wasn't so alone after all.

* * *

**A/N: And the adventures continue - welcome to Godric's Hollow! Writing the graveyard scene was tough...but I think we're done with the sad stuff for a while now, so that's good. Up next: Malfoy Manor.**

**Thank you as always for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading! We're getting closer to the reveal of some of the wearers of the rings (we'll learn who 2 of them are in this story, &amp; the other 2 in part 7, if the current plan works out), so send me your guesses! Comments about any other aspect of the story are welcome too, of course.**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	5. A Shocking Discovery

Hermione and Harry were both bound by timelines and other people, Hermione needing time to consult with their American counterparts in Salem while Harry had to arrange his meeting with Bathilda Bagshot. As Draco was dropping into his own house, however, he had no such restrictions, and as a result, he decided to wait until the morning of the Portkey's activation to do so – though the estate was large, Draco was sure that he'd be able to see all he wanted to see over the course of the day, and if he didn't, he could always come back since the wards would be fixed. The Portkey was set to activate at seven o'clock that evening, which gave him plenty of time to explore. After a quick breakfast at Grimmauld Place, Draco and Lupin took a second Portkey to the outskirts of a small village in Wiltshire. Malfoy Manor was a short walk away, the first sign that they were close being the high, thick wall that surrounded the property. They followed the road along the wall until they reached a wrought-iron gate, the metal curled in intricate scrolls, and Draco gasped at the sight within.

There was only one word to describe Malfoy Manor – beautiful. Constructed of stone, the elegant façade sprawled outwards and upwards, encompassing untold thousands of square feet, and neat hedges flanked the wide drive. Draco slowly reached up and touched the ironwork of the gate, and he shivered at the instantaneous reaction of the wards. It felt strange, but also…right, somehow. He wasn't sure he could explain it. The gate swung open at his touch, and he stepped forward onto the drive, his gaze fixed on the remarkable building at the other end.

"Draco."

Draco quickly turned around – he'd been so absorbed by the house that he'd completely forgotten he wasn't alone. Constant vigilance, indeed…

"Sorry, Professor," he said. "What do I need to do?"

"Give me your hand," Lupin instructed. "The wards let you through, so they should do the same for anyone you bring along." Draco stepped closer, and the two grasped hands. When they tried to walk forward, however, Lupin quickly let go and let out a yelp of what was unmistakably pain.

"Professor?" Draco asked in alarm. "What's wrong?"

"I was afraid of that," Lupin muttered, frowning at the gate in distaste.

"Afraid of what?"

"It seems these wards are more complicated than we thought," Lupin said. "The ward holding me back – I've felt it before. It's used specifically to keep my kind out." He spoke this last sentence with a bitter undertone.

"You mean…"

"Werewolves, yes – any sort of half-breeds, actually. I'd be willing to bet that Hagrid wouldn't be able to cross this ward either," Lupin said.

"Why is there a ward around the manor like that?" Draco asked. "Why does that ward even exist in the first place?"

"Prejudice, Draco," Lupin explained impatiently. "I can barely get a job in the Wizarding world because of what I am – is it really all that surprising that the old pureblood families took it a step further and blocked us from their homes?" Draco made an exasperated noise and began to pace back and forth across the gravel.

"Well what am I supposed to do?" he demanded. "I can't just leave you here, can I?"

"You can, and you must," Lupin insisted. "I might have been your teacher, but I'm no expert on specialized wards, so I can't remove it. Dumbledore probably could, or perhaps even Snape, but not me. As much as I'd like nothing better than to leave right now, it would be ridiculous for you to have come all this way for nothing. It's not me you need to worry about, I'll be fine – worry about yourself. You'll need to be on your guard when you're walking around in there."

"I…ugh! Fine," Draco said, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"Be careful. Send your Patronus if you need anything."

"I will." With one last look at his former professor, who rolled his eyes and shooed him along, Draco turned and walked towards his ancestral home.

It was a beautiful, clear morning, and Draco decided to take advantage of it and explore the grounds first – if he was being honest with himself, he was also a bit apprehensive about going into the house alone, but he shook it off and insisted he was staying outside because the weather could change any moment and force him indoors before he'd seen everything. He skirted the house and found himself on the edge of a massive green lawn covered in what he suspected were once beautifully manicured gardens – the house had been sitting empty for roughly eight months now though, and the plants were beginning to grow wild. It was obvious they hadn't been touched in some time, and Draco wondered just how long it had been since anyone had properly tended them – Lucius certainly hadn't been in any shape to garden for a number of years, and Draco had no idea who had actually maintained the grounds. He could hear running water somewhere in the distance – whether it was a fountain or a stream, though, he didn't know, since he couldn't see the source.

Around the back of the house was a wooden structure, and Draco pushed it open to reveal stables. So his family had kept horses, then? He certainly didn't remember them, but then again, he'd only just turned four when he left the manor, and from what he understood, the atmosphere in the house hadn't exactly been conducive to pony rides. Riding equipment hung on the walls, polished to a shine and giving off the scent of fine leather, but the stalls were all empty and there was no sign of any sort of food, so he supposed the horses had either died or fled when their food supply ran out. Without any further clues, it was anyone's guess as to what had actually happened to the animals.

Draco wandered for quite a while before he found anything else of note, passing fountains, countless species of plants, a broom shed, a large pond, and what he guessed was a hedge maze as he explored the grounds. He really didn't see the point of the maze and suspected he could probably put up his own Quidditch pitch if he mowed the thing down – it was certainly big enough, at any rate. Finally, he stumbled upon another small building, this one made of marble. Unlike the stables, the marble structure gave him the shivers, and he found himself wishing once more that he wasn't alone. As soon as he pushed open the door, he understood why – it was a crypt.

The crypt itself wasn't very big – only slightly larger than his bedroom back in Surrey, Draco guessed. The center of the room was open, and shelves on either side held the coffins of recently deceased Malfoys. There was a metal hatch in the floor on the far side of the room, and Draco suspected it led downwards to the rest of the crypt and the final resting places of his earlier ancestors.

Though his instincts were screaming at him to run, Draco stepped up and examined the coffins. They were surprisingly plain, with shiny plaques on the ends detailing the people they held. Some of the plaques were worn and hard to read, and one of the coffins didn't have a plaque at all, but the two closest to the door were easily legible: Narcissa Cedrella Black Malfoy, and Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, their dates of birth and death neatly scripted below their names. Draco ran his fingers lightly over his mother's name and bowed his head in respect – he had no love lost for Lucius, not after the catastrophic end his joining the Death Eaters had brought about, but Narcissa had clearly loved Draco and done everything in her power to give him a second chance at a good life, and he was grateful for that at least. With one last glance at his parents' remains, Draco exited the crypt, carefully closing the door behind him.

Draco suspected there was a stream of sorts running through the trees that marked one edge of the property, but as the sun had gone behind the clouds while he'd been in the crypt, he decided to forgo hunting for it in favor of exploring the house. He wanted to make sure he had a chance to take a good look around before the Portkey activated, and so he set off at a brisk walk that eventually brought him back to the main house. The massive front doors were unlocked, which made Draco pause and think – did Wizarding houses have locks, if they had wards? Of course they did – he'd seen Filch locking the front doors of Hogwarts while on his prefect rounds, and Grimmauld Place had enough deadbolts for half a dozen houses. It was a bit strange, then, and more than a little disconcerting, that the doors to Malfoy Manor weren't secured, but it was too late to dwell on that now. With one great push, the doors swung open.

The inside of the house was just as grand as the outside. A delicate crystal chandelier and smooth stone flooring covered in plush carpeting decorated the entrance hall, and a wide, sweeping staircase led to the upper floors – the latter reminded Draco of Hogwarts, except on a much smaller scale. Portraits lined the walls, and a hallway to the right of the staircase led to the rest of the ground floor. Deciding to start from the bottom and work his way upwards, Draco made his way down this hall.

The first room Draco found was a drawing room, the walls colored a sumptuous shade of purple and the ornate furniture clearly the best money could buy. Taking up most of the far wall was a handsome marble fireplace, above which hung a massive gilt-framed mirror, and another chandelier twinkled delicately overhead. Draco could actually feel his feet sinking into the thick carpet as he explored the room.

The other rooms on the ground floor were just as impressive as the drawing room. Shiny pots large enough to bathe a child in dominated the scrubbed wooden kitchen; a huge ballroom featured beautifully inlaid parquet flooring and diamond-paned windows that sparkled in the sunlight coming in from the gardens; and the central piece of the dining hall was a table so large it could have comfortably seated the entirety of Dumbledore's Army. The library would have made Hermione faint – every inch of wall space save for the windows and fireplace was covered with bookshelves, with delicate spiral staircases at the back of the room leading to the upper level, and comfortable furniture made for attractive reading areas. Priceless antiques dotted the house in a surprisingly subtle manner, and portraits of past Malfoys hung in strategic places throughout. Draco honestly thought the manor was lovely, if not a bit museum-like, but the portraits unnerved him, and it wasn't until he found himself studying a portrait of his father hung just outside the dining room that he realized why.

In this particular portrait, Lucius Malfoy sat astride an enormous, coal-black stallion, the animal's head tossed back in pride and defiance as its long mane rippled in the wind. Beside the horse were two equally large hunting hounds, their lithe bodies covered in thick, shaggy fur and their eyes alert. Draco thought he would have remembered such huge dogs, but perhaps he'd never actually interacted with them. Lucius himself wore the finest quality robes and a thick, fur-trimmed cloak, a jeweled sword sheathed at his hip, and he had the same arrogant expression Draco remembered from his death announcement in the _Daily Prophet._ It was an impressive painting, to be sure, but what struck Draco most was the fact that it was utterly still – and now that he thought about it, every other portrait he'd come across was the same. Not a single one had so much as blinked at him since he'd walked into the manor, and Draco couldn't help but think that the portraits had been frozen and silenced on purpose. The question was, _why?_

Draco retreated from the portrait, unable to look at his father's cold grey eyes any longer, and soon found a small door across from the drawing room that he'd previously missed. Curious, he turned the handle and found himself in a dark, narrow corridor. The passageway was entirely bare, and Draco wondered where it would take him – a servants' staircase, perhaps? He knew that many large houses like this one had them, allowing the servants to move freely about the house without being seen…but then again, he'd only ever heard of the Malfoys having house-elf servants, not human ones, and house-elves could use their magic to get around and therefore wouldn't need such a passage. Draco pulled himself from his musings to concentrate on the short flight of steps leading downwards, the darkness becoming thicker as he descended. At the bottom was a heavy wooden door, which pushed open with a _creak._ Draco took not two steps forward before drawing his wand – to hell with the underage restrictions; he couldn't see a damn thing.

_"Lumos."_

"Who's there?"

Draco nearly fell over in shock. The light from his wand illuminated the sparse cellar, but he barely registered his surroundings at all, instead focusing on the voice. He _knew_ that voice…

Draco cautiously took another step further into the room. There was a shape huddled on the floor at the far end of the cellar, and Draco crept closer with trembling footsteps, biting back a scream at the sight before him.

"Draco?"

Draco couldn't speak. On the floor before him, bruised, bloodied, and weak – but unmistakably alive – was Hermione's father.

"Draco?" he repeated. "Is that you?"

"Sweet Salazar," Draco murmured, finding his voice at last as he dropped to his knees. "Dr. Granger…" Even through the bruises, Draco could see the older man's expression soften.

"Draco, son…surely after all these years, if you still refuse to call me 'Dad', you can at least call me 'Bob'," he said softly.

That was Draco's undoing – he couldn't take it anymore and let his tears fall freely, crawling forward to clasp Hermione's father's hand as he greedily drank him in. The comment, made so casually, meant more to him than he could ever say – while Lily was his surrogate mum, Padfoot had always been more of an older brother than a father, so Bob addressing Draco the way he had affected him deeply. How the other man had survived, Draco had no idea, but here he was – if Bob Granger were a wizard, Draco had no doubt he'd be a Gryffindor.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, wiping away the last of his tears with the back of his free hand.

"What are you sorry for?" Bob asked, looking genuinely confused. "You didn't have anything to do with this."

"I didn't have – Bob, do you realize where you are? You're _in_ _my house,_ for Salazar's sake!" Draco almost snapped. "You've obviously been tortured…your wife…"

"Really?" Bob replied in interest. "Well, then – you're the first person who's bothered to tell me that. Not that I've seen anyone else in roughly a week to begin with."

"A week?" Draco asked, his anger and frustration dissipating somewhat.

"Something like that – it's hard to keep track of time down here," Bob said. "And I know about Helen, and Lily." His eyes were sad for a moment before he continued. "I don't really know where I was when they first took me, but they eventually dumped me here, with some water" – he nodded towards a large jug Draco had previously missed – "and some bread, and that was that. I haven't seen anybody since – I s'pose they were a bit disappointed with my lack of information and left me here to die."

"But that still means somebody's been in the manor very recently," Draco muttered to himself, the thought most definitely not a comforting one. The clues should have been obvious – the unlocked front door, for one, and he hadn't seen so much as a speck of dust since he'd entered the house; Draco didn't know much about household spells, but he was pretty sure cleaning charms didn't keep spaces like this immaculate for months on end. So Bob could hear, he added, "We need to get you out of here – do you know how badly you're hurt?"

"I can't say, but something's definitely broken," Bob replied. "Hurts to move." Draco swore under his breath. There went his plan of helping Bob walk out to meet Lupin at the gate. It wasn't like he could Apparate, either – there were bound to be anti-Apparition wards around the manor, and even if there weren't, he hadn't the faintest idea how to do it in the first place. House-elves were impervious to such wards and could have done it easily, but there weren't any left – the Order had eventually learned that Lucius Malfoy had died because one of his fits had killed his final remaining house-elf and he hadn't been able to care for himself in his compromised state. They were hopelessly stuck.

But wait…there _was_ another house-elf, wasn't there? One who might still answer the call of a Malfoy…

"Dobby," Draco said quietly.

Almost instantly, a loud _crack_ snapped through the cellar, accompanied by the arrival of a small creature with floppy ears and a long, pointy nose. He wore a tea towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest and a pair of colorful mismatched socks, the latter a Christmas gift from Hermione, and his bright blue eyes widened in fear at his surroundings.

"Thank Merlin," Draco breathed, then, noticing the little elf's fear, quickly added, "Dobby, it's alright. I'm sorry to have called you here, but I really need your help."

"What is you needing, Master Draco?" Dobby squeaked, still clearly unnerved at being back in Malfoy Manor.

"Dobby, this is Bob Granger," Draco said, motioning to the man on the floor beside him. "Lotte's father."

"Miss Hermione?" Dobby asked. Draco confirmed his question with a nod.

"Yes, Miss Hermione. Dobby, he's hurt – badly hurt. He needs help, and soon. Professor Lupin – he taught Defense at Hogwarts, do you remember him? He's waiting for me outside the gates of the manor. Could you take Bob to him, make sure he knows what's going on, and then get all of you to safety?" Dobby nodded solemnly, his fear replaced by determination.

"Dobby will, Master Draco. Dobby will help Miss Hermione's father."

"Thank you, Dobby," Draco said sincerely. Dobby beamed, and Draco raised his wand.

_"Expecto Patronum."_

The silver wolf burst into existence, gazing intently at its master. At first, Draco wasn't sure what to do – he'd never sent a message via Patronus before. He had to try, though, and so began to speak.

"Can you…take a message to Professor Lupin, at the gate?" He asked hesitantly. "Tell him that we've found Bob Granger, and he needs immediate medical attention. Dobby's going to bring him out. I have the Portkey, I'll be fine – please, _please_ go with them, professor. Go, for Lotte – for me." The wolf must have understood, because it bowed its head and vanished. Draco then turned back to Bob.

"This is Dobby, my house-elf," he explained. "He's going to take you to get help – all you have to do is hold on." Bob looked nonplussed but accepted Dobby's outstretched hand just as a second silvery wolf, this one a werewolf, appeared, speaking in Lupin's voice:

"Message received and understood – send him out right away. I'll do the best I can for him." The werewolf disappeared, but Dobby still hesitated for a moment, sensing that they had more to say.

"Lotte…still Lotte," Bob murmured, a fond smile playing about his lips as he looked at his blond companion.

"Always," Draco replied, quietly but firmly.

"You're a good man, Draco, and don't you dare think otherwise. I don't care where you came from, or who your family was – you're a good man, and I'm proud of you." Draco could only nod in reply, the lump in his throat preventing him from speaking.

"Take care of yourself, son," Bob said softly. "I'll see you soon." Draco swallowed hard.

"You too." With that, another _crack_ echoed through the cellar, and Draco was left alone.

* * *

**A/N: Anybody feel a little better knowing that we've got Bob back? I just couldn't let them all die, it made me too sad.**

**Fun fact of the day: my grandmother's old house had a servants' staircase - it ran inside the wall parallel to the main one &amp; went from the kitchen to the upstairs landing. I thought it was nifty.**

**Thank you, my friends, for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading!**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	6. The Salem Witches' Institute

"So this is Harvard," Hermione thought aloud as they walked past a series of matching red brick buildings behind wrought-iron fences.

"What's Harvard?" Ginny asked.

"It's a university – Muggles attend them to further their studies after secondary school," Hermione explained. "Oxford and Cambridge are two of the most famous ones back home, and Harvard is one of the most well-known in America – it's a highly respected school." They followed Aunt Diane's directions away from the main square and soon found their destination – Arrow Street. The street was quite small and there wasn't much there besides a church and a few nondescript buildings, but there were two teenage girls standing about halfway down the street who looked like they were waiting for someone.

"Maria?" Hermione asked, using the guide's name their letter had provided.

"Hi! You must be Hermione. I'm Maria, and this is my sister, Julie." The girl who spoke was tall and sporty, her wavy brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Julie was even taller than Maria, with curly blonde hair and freckles across her nose. They both had the same deep blue eyes and very similar facial features – even without Maria's introduction, Hermione could tell they were related.

"Yes, I'm Hermione, and this is Ginny, and Tonks. Are you from Salem?"

"We are," Maria said. "We've been asked to bring you to the school and show you around." She pushed open the door behind her and led them down a short flight of stairs, at the bottom of which was a T station. A train sat waiting on the tracks, its body silver with a sleek stripe of purple and black running along the side.

"Welcome to the Salem line," Maria said. "Not the most original name, but the T already has silver and purple lines, and black seemed…I dunno…"

"Too depressing?" Julie joked, her curls bouncing as she cocked her head towards her sister.

"Yup. Hop on, and we'll talk on the way."

Maria and Julie had loads to say on the short trip to Salem, both about their school and themselves. Unlike the Hogwarts Express, the Salem line was available to shuttle students back and forth every weekend, as the trip took less than half an hour, and it also ran on specified weeknights as well. Learning to integrate with Muggle society was extremely important at Salem – all students took a mandatory course for the entirety of their education that familiarized them with both Muggle and Wizarding culture, and more selective seminars, counseling sessions, and events were available for those who wished to pursue options such as university or a Muggle career. The train's frequent schedule allowed the students to easily interact with everything on offer in Boston and Cambridge.

"I wish we had something like that," Ginny said enviously. "I had trouble just getting my train tickets, and you should have seen me at the airport!"

"You don't have anything like that?" Julie asked, her eyes wide.

"We have a Muggle studies course, open to third-years and up, but it's optional, and it doesn't cover anything useful," Hermione explained. "I took it for just the one year and immediately dropped it afterwards. We also don't have anything at all covering Wizarding culture – those of us who've grown up in Muggle homes are thrown headfirst into the deep end and basically just expected to figure it out as we go."

"But what do people from Wizarding backgrounds do when they go to Muggle places?" Maria wondered.

"They don't, really," Ginny said. "I'm from one – pureblood, my family's been magic for generations – but while some people take pride in that, I find it tough. I know loads about the Wizarding world, but throw me into Muggle London, and I'm completely helpless."

"I can't even imagine that," Maria said. "The two cultures are so intertwined here."

They used the remainder of the journey to learn more about each other. Maria and Julie were half-bloods – their Wizarding side descended from a victim of the witch trials – and they had two older sisters who'd already graduated from Salem. Quidditch wasn't as popular in America as it was in Britain, and so the girls didn't really follow it, but they both loved another broom game called Quodpot, though only Julie actually played. Julie was going into fourth year and loved history – Hermione knew she'd be their go-to person when they got to talking about Ravenclaw – while Maria was starting her sixth year and much more of a numbers girl. They were still chatting away when the train slowed and finally stopped.

"We're here!" Julie exclaimed as she hopped down onto the platform. "Let's go!"

"Jules, chill," Maria said with a laugh. "Give them a chance to catch their breath before you go charging off like that!"

"We're at _Salem,"_ Julie replied, an 'Isn't it obvious?' look prevalent on her face. Maria rolled her eyes.

"Little Miss Impatient," she muttered. She gestured for Hermione, Ginny, and Tonks to follow her, and the group of five headed up the stairs into the sunlight. Before them was a wide gate enclosing a series of brick buildings just like those they'd seen at Harvard. Green lawns were bisected by strategic footpaths, there was a stadium off to the right, and they could both see and hear the ocean – the school was right on the water. Small groups of students were scattered throughout the grounds, reading, chatting, and tossing Frisbees, and a few of them waved to Maria and Julie as they passed.

"So, here it is!" Maria said, making a sweeping motion towards the school. "The Salem Witches' Institute."

"I thought this was an all-girls' school?" Ginny asked, looking questioningly towards a group of boys who were tossing a ball around.

"Oh no, we most definitely have boys," Julie said with a wink. Maria rolled her eyes again.

"My boy-crazy sister, ladies and gentlemen," she said with a snort. "Yes, Salem is a co-ed school. Both men and women were persecuted during the trials, all of them accused of being 'witches', and the founder of our school decided to honor that in the name – but we do call the guys who go here 'wizards', and always have. And as you can probably tell, lots of us stay here for at least part of the summer, especially if we live close to campus – there's a lot going on here."

"What are you two doing?" Hermione asked, interested.

"I'm doing independent research involving Arithmancy and Muggle math, and they always like it when the proctors can stay over the summer," Maria said. "I think that's similar to when you were talking about your prefects earlier – I've been one since last year. Julie's got Quodpot for at least part of the summer, and of course she wouldn't pass up a chance to get into the archives."

"I think I might just be your girl," Julie cut in. "I saw the letter you sent our Head of School – you wanna chat about Rowena Ravenclaw? Let's go." She squeezed between Hermione and Ginny and looped her arms through theirs, calling an enthusiastic farewell to her sister as she marched them towards what they guessed was an academic building.

"Is Maria not coming too?" Hermione asked as she struggled to keep up with Julie's long strides.

"Nah," Julie replied dismissively. "She only came with me coz students aren't supposed to take the train by themselves – she's off to deal with her theorems and all that jazz." She snorted, suggesting exactly what she thought of _that_ idea, and herded them into the building, which they were surprised to see was lit with electricity and looked very modern.

"Cultural integration," Julie chirped as if reading their thoughts. "This way, please!" They followed her through the building and up to the school's library – though brightly lit and comfortably furnished, it didn't quite have the same atmosphere as the one at Hogwarts – and finally into the archives room. A bunch of books and papers were sprawled out over the nearest desk, and Julie motioned for them to take a seat while she organized the mess.

"I've been spending most of my time in here when I'm not playing Quodpot," she explained. Hermione frowned.

"These are your archives? Your records aren't protected?"

"Oh, no," Julie said quickly. "They are. The older stuff is kept in vaults downstairs, and we have climate-controlled rooms and all that – remember though, Salem isn't nearly as old as Hogwarts, so we don't have quite as much that's in danger of falling apart. This room contains the school's history, and anyone's welcome to use it – you have to be trained to use anything stored downstairs, but everything here is fair game. It gets locked and warded at night, obviously, but our founder wanted everyone here to be able to understand and appreciate where we'd come from."

"So what can you tell us about Ravenclaw?" Tonks asked.

"About Ravenclaw herself? Not a lot," Julie replied. "Our founder's line goes back to her, but that's a gap of almost seven hundred years. Her motto's painted above the main library doors, I know that."

"I didn't know Ravenclaw had a motto," Ginny commented.

_"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure,"_ Julie recited. "Supposedly it's inscribed on her diadem, but that's been lost for centuries." At their confused looks, she said, "You really don't know much about Ravenclaw at all, do you?"

"None of us are in Ravenclaw House," Hermione explained. "And even if we were, our history books don't say much about her."

"Oh. Well, they say she owned a diadem – a tiara – that gave the wearer enhanced wisdom, and that saying was on it. It's mostly just a rumor, though, coz nobody's ever actually seen the thing. And you're right, there isn't much written about her." Julie's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Salem does own something else that belonged to her though."

"They do?" Hermione asked. "What is it?"

"It's a ring – why everybody insists it was hers, though, I have no idea."

"Why is that?" Ginny asked, hoping she didn't sound too eager.

"Because it's…oh, you wouldn't believe me if I told you," Julie said. "Just come downstairs and I'll show you." At the back of the room was another door leading to a flight of stairs, at the base of which they found the entrance to the archives. Julie waved her wand to remove the locks and wards, and they filed in. Climate-controlled glass cases filled with scrolls and other artifacts lined the walls, and there was a display stand in the middle of the room, on which sat a small jewelry box. With another wave of her wand, Julie freed the box of its enchantments and picked up the ring, holding it flat on her palm.

"The pride of Salem, my friends," she said dramatically, "is…a piece of junk." Hermione, however, could barely contain her excitement, and Ginny and Tonks sensed it too. This was what they'd come for – this was their ring. Even in the dim lighting, they could see its blue and bronze coloring, and it had the same plastic look Hermione recognized from Hufflepuff's ring back at Hogwarts.

"I mean, it's obviously more than it looks – there are tons of stories about people trying to break it in a whole bunch of ways, and all of their attempts failed even though it honestly looks and feels like cheap plastic – but nobody's been able to figure out what's so special about it, other than that it was supposedly hers. Still pretty cool though." Julie shrugged and put the ring back in its stand. "That's all I can tell you, and it's almost four o'clock – any of you want to learn how to play Quodpot?"

Hermione, Ginny, and Tonks did indeed go to Julie's Quodpot practice. While it was highly entertaining, however, they couldn't help but think about the ring. Though Julie was in the dark as to its real power, it was clear she – and the rest of her school – viewed it as both an important historical artifact and an important piece of their school's history. It wasn't like their claims were fraudulent, either, as they'd already proven that Salem's founder was a descendent of Ravenclaw and therefore had a legitimate connection to the ring. How were they going to convince them to give it up?

After an enjoyable dinner in Salem's dining hall, Julie and Maria showed them to a guest suite in one of the dormitories. Hermione protested that they had other accommodations and could easily return to the school the following day, but the American girls wouldn't hear it – and inwardly, Hermione was glad to accept, as it would make their exploration of the school easier. After a hushed discussion with Ginny and Tonks, Hermione came to the conclusion that they were going to have to steal Ravenclaw's ring – she wasn't overly fond of the idea, but they were running out of time and didn't have any other viable options.

The next morning after breakfast, Hermione went straight to the library for a book on the school and its history. It didn't take her long to find what she was looking for, and she sat down in an oversized armchair to read, making particular note of the little details that could be useful – for example, there were anti-Apparition wards on the property, but just like at Hogwarts, they did not extend beyond the front gate. By lunchtime, Hermione had a workable list, and she headed for the dining hall in high spirits, chatting with Ginny and Tonks about their mornings. Ginny, who had been fascinated by the Quodpot practice, had joined in a pick-up game, and Tonks, who had quite liked Arithmancy in school even though she found it difficult, had spent the morning chatting with Maria about her independent study work. They left the Americans to their own devices for the afternoon and lounged in the sun out on the lawn, another group of Frisbee players nearby, and fine-tuned their plans for that night. Their flight home was only a few days away, and they wanted to attempt their heist as soon as possible in case they ran into any unforeseen complications and had to come up with an alternative.

That night, Hermione and Ginny sat in their guest room, waiting for the signal from Tonks. The first stage of their plan involved Tonks using her Metamorphmagus abilities to transform into Julie, as no one would question the blonde girl's presence in the archives. Ginny and Hermione would then meet up with Tonks, hidden from view by the invisibility cloak that Hermione had sneaked from Harry's trunk before they'd left, and the three of them would go after the ring from there. For that to work, however, they had to make sure the real Julie was out of the way. After what seemed like hours, the Order coin in Hermione's hand heated up, and the two girls left the suite.

They met Tonks outside the library building. Her transformation was excellent – she'd even Transfigured her clothes to match Julie's. The only reason they knew it was actually Tonks was the silver bracelet.

"Tonks!" Ginny whispered. "Right behind you!"

"Wotcher," Tonks replied with a grin that looked eerily like Julie's. They hurried inside and were walking up the ramp to the library's main doors when Maria came around the corner.

"Jules?" she asked, looking confused. "I thought you were getting food?"

"Forgot something," Tonks said quickly, brushing off Maria's question the way the real Julie did.

"Ok then…" Maria looked like she didn't quite believe her, but she continued on her way.

"I thought you said the real Julie was out of the way!" Hermione hissed once they were safely in the archives.

"I couldn't Stun her, she wasn't alone!" Tonks replied. "But she said hi to me and asked if I wanted to grab dinner, so I'm guessing that's where she is."

"Then we've got maybe ten minutes, if we're lucky," Ginny said. "We don't know where Maria's going, but there's a chance she could run into her sister, and if she does, they'll immediately know something's up."

"Well the wards on the archives door can't be that difficult, if Julie can open them," Hermione reasoned. "She's only what, fourteen? And she basically said anyone can have access as long as they get permission. It's the wards on the actual ring case I'm worried about." Without further delay, they hurried down the stairs to the archives entrance.

Hermione was right – she and Tonks dismantled the wards on the door very quickly, although they had to move fast in case they'd unknowingly triggered anything that alerted the school to the fact that someone was down there. Julie hadn't mentioned anything like that, but of course she wouldn't have told them everything…the wards on the display stand, however, were much more confusing. Hermione could take down only two of the seven wards, and Tonks admitted that she recognized two others but didn't know how to unlock them.

"There's got to be another way to do this!" Hermione said despairingly. "We _have_ to get this ring!"

"We'll figure something out," Tonks said reassuringly, but she looked doubtful.

Ginny, however, was studying the display stand closely. The stand sat on a plain wooden box some three feet high and one foot square, and it was before this box that Ginny now knelt. She fidgeted with it for a moment, doing something neither Hermione nor Tonks could see, before they heard a _click_ and the front panel of the box slid open.

"Just as I thought," Ginny said, the smirk evident in her voice. "Salem embraces Muggle technology a lot more than Hogwarts does, so they've got a deactivator – accessible only by Muggle means." She held up the thing she'd been fussing with – it was a hairpin.

"The perks of living with Fred and George," she said smugly. "Now, let's turn this thing off." She looked around inside the box and flipped a switch.

"Interesting," Tonks commented, nodding approvingly. "I might have to suggest that at our next Auror department meeting." For the switch had indeed deactivated all of the wards on the ring, and Hermione scooped it up and stowed it on her necklace without trouble.

"Let's get out of here," she said.

Getting out, however, would prove easier said than done – when they turned around, they saw Julie and Maria standing at the top of the stairs, Julie looking furious.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded. _"Expelliarmus!"_

_"Protego!"_ Hermione threw up her shield just in time, and their wands stayed put.

_"Stupefy!"_

_"Expelliarmus!"_

The girls immediately began shooting spells back and forth, Hermione and her friends fighting to get to the staircase. Julie's concern for the archives worked in their favor, and they managed to return to the main level with little resistance. Once they were out of the archives, however, all bets were off, and spells flew in all directions as Hermione, Ginny, and Tonks raced from the library, the invisibility cloak streaming from Ginny's hand like a kite.

_"Impedimenta!"_ Hermione shouted. The spell clipped Maria's shoulder and she stumbled, but she soon regained her footing and chased after her sister.

"They've got the ring!" Julie shouted. "Somebody stop them!" But there was no one to hear her cry, the grounds deserted in the after-dinner hours save for the quintet now racing across the lawn.

"Julie, which one are you?" a confused Maria called. Tonks, who did indeed still look like Julie, laughed, tossing a wink over her shoulder as her hair morphed back into brown spikes.

"Best in my class at Concealment and Disguise, and I didn't even need to study!" she crowed.

Halfway to the gate, Ginny turned and hit Maria with her Bat-Bogey hex, and the American girl fell to her knees, unable to fight off Ginny's signature curse. Julie was still fighting, though, and dodged every spell they threw at her. Not only that, but she was fast, and she gained on them with every long stride.

"Just a little further," Hermione panted, clutching the stitch in her side. Finally, they reached the gate, throwing themselves through as fast as they could and yanking it shut behind them.

"Grab my hand!" Tonks shouted. Ginny and Hermione wasted no time in obeying, and Tonks turned on the spot, the three girls disappearing instantly.

_"Dammit!"_ Julie cried. "No, no, no!" She shook the gate in frustration, but it was no use – they'd taken the ring. She stomped her way back to her sister.

_"Finite Incantatem,"_ she growled, the spell ceasing instantly. Maria took one look up at her furious sister before inexplicably bursting into laughter.

_"What_ is so funny?" Julie snapped. "They've just _stolen_ the most important object from our entire archives!"

"Oh, shut up, Jules," Maria replied, her laughter subsiding. "We've got plenty of other stuff that actually belonged to _our_ founder, as opposed to something that was passed down and just so happens to have a connection. That ring belongs at Hogwarts and you know it, it was only a matter of time before somebody came to get it. Besides" – and here she snickered again – "a bobby pin, a Metamorphmagus, and an invisibility cloak? Come on – even you have to admit they've got style."

* * *

**A/N: This was a fun chapter to write - hope you all enjoyed it! Fun fact of the day - today marks the 1-year anniversary of this series. Can't believe it! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me this far. We'll get Harry's other chapter tomorrow, then Draco's probably around Friday, &amp; then we'll be all caught up with what I wrote over vacation. Huzzah!**

**Another fun fact - Arrow St. is a real place in Cambridge. There's a _fantastic_ frozen yogurt place there - unfortunately it wasn't built until almost 10 years after this setting, so I couldn't include it...but if you ever find yourself in that area, be sure to stop in!**

**Bugs &amp; Squirt - no, it's not just a passing resemblance. ;) Love you both.**

**Thank you, as always, for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading!**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	7. Fact or Fiction? A History Lesson

Once Harry had calmed down, he picked himself up off the ground and moved away from his parents' headstone, wordlessly telling Sirius that the older man was now free to pay his own respects to the Potters. He wandered through the graveyard for ten minutes or so, reading the headstones and wondering what had possessed some people to choose the words they had for their loved ones' epitaphs, before Sirius returned to his side, and the two left the churchyard. They headed for the Golden Lion in silence, neither feeling much like talking after the solemn experiences they'd just had, and Sirius pushed open the inn's door without a word. The dining area was full of patrons enjoying a late lunch – Harry could see Siobhan chatting merrily with a young family as she served their meals, and Patrick was busy filling tankards behind the bar. They chose two empty stools near the taps, Harry staring up at the specials board without really seeing what was on it. Based on the stew they'd had earlier, it was probably delicious, but he just wasn't hungry at the moment.

"Two firewhiskies when you get a chance, mate," Sirius said quietly once Patrick was close enough to hear him. Patrick looked up from the mug he was filling and frowned.

"Two?" he asked, glancing at Harry's still zoned-out form.

"We just came from the graveyard," Sirius replied. "Please." Patrick's frown disappeared, and he nodded in understanding.

"Just don't make a habit of it," he said, placing the now full mug on a tray, which he then slid towards the end of the counter just as his wife appeared to pick it up. Sirius nodded, and Patrick retrieved two shot glasses from under the bar and filled each with a dark amber liquid.

"They're on me," he said quietly, then turned to fill another round of drinks. Sirius picked up one of the shot glasses and pushed the other in front of Harry, who raised his eyebrows in question.

"Just drink it," Sirius said impatiently. "After that graveyard, you need it." Harry shrugged and raised his own shot glass to meet his godfather's.  
"Cheers." They clinked glasses and tossed their heads back, each downing the firewhisky in one gulp. Harry grimaced and tried not to cough as the burning liquid slid down his throat and brought tears to his eyes.

_"Merlin,_ that's disgusting," he choked.

"Never had that before, have you?" Sirius asked, calmly setting his own glass on the counter.

"When would I have?" Harry replied. "It's not like I can just ask for it in Hogsmeade, I'm still underage." Sirius snorted.

"Harry, honestly. I've been to enough Quidditch parties to know that _somebody_ always manages to sneak in something stronger than butterbeer, so forgive me if I don't exactly believe you – especially not when your teammates included the Weasley twins." Harry chuckled.

"Fair point," he conceded.

"I s'pose it's good that I know you're not attempting to break your dad's record of number of shots consumed in a night before passing out," Sirius said. "Damn, but that was a party – sixth year, and we'd just flattened Ravenclaw and taken the lead for the Quidditch Cup. Even the party when we later actually _won_ the Quidditch Cup didn't compare to that one." He paused as if to savor the memory, then frowned and added, "And I'm glad you won't be tempted to follow in your brother's footsteps, either."

"Draco?" Harry asked, cocking his head questioningly to one side. "What did Draco do?"

"Remember, right after…the beginning of the summer, when you spent some quality time in the basement? Draco's solution of choice was an entire bottle of firewhisky – he's lucky he didn't have to go to St. Mungo's." Harry winced.

"You're almost making me wish I had another drink," he muttered. Sirius sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know this summer's been terrible, especially for you three, and I wish I could do something to fix it, I really could."

"It's not your fault," Harry reassured him. "We all know that." He paused and bit his lip, contemplating his next words.

"When did it happen?"

"When did what happen?" Sirius asked.

"Mum's burial." The response was so quiet Sirius almost missed it.

"Let's go upstairs and talk, yeah?" Harry nodded and hopped down off his stool, Sirius following suit and leading the way upstairs into their room. The pair settled themselves into two comfortable armchairs, and Sirius finally answered his godson's question.

"A few days after the funeral," he said. "We were lucky this time around – things have been fairly quiet, all things considered, and the Order decided it was safe to do it right away. It was loads harder with your dad – we had to wait over a month before we could come here, and even then, the burial still happened in the dead of night with the fewest number of people possible." Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "You haven't been back to Godric's Hollow since your dad was killed, and I don't want you to associate it with only bad things – I have more than my fair share of fond memories of this place, and I want you to have that chance as well."

"Oh, I like it here," Harry said quickly. "I really do – and I'm glad you were able to come with me." He thought for a moment. "You still have the fourth knife, right? The one that matches mine?"

"In the safe at home," Sirius confirmed. "Why do you ask?"

"I want to give it to Ginny," Harry said, his face warming slightly at the mention of his girlfriend. Sirius chuckled.

"But of course," he said, waggling his eyebrows. "Don't think I didn't see that rather intimate little tête-à-tête you two had at the airport the other day." Harry groaned and dropped his face in his hands.

_"Padfoot,"_ he grumbled, glaring at Sirius through his fingers. Sirius grinned.

"Ah, ah, ah, you don't get to complain – I haven't had _nearly_ as much time to mess with you as I have with Draco and Hermione. Those two are no fun anyway – they've been in love with each other for years and are completely unfazed by anything anyone says about it." Harry chose to groan again instead of offering a proper reply, and Sirius reached over and ruffled his hair affectionately.

"Yes, you can give the knife to Ginny," he said, dropping the teasing tone. "Remind me to go pick it up for you when we get home."

"Thanks," Harry replied, finally sitting up straight again.

A knock at the door interrupted their thoughts, and Patrick poked his head in.

"Just got back from Bathilda's house," he informed them. "She said she'd be glad to speak with you – you can drop in for tea tomorrow. I don't think it really matters to her, actually, but we thought you two might like to see the performance tomorrow morning."

"What performance?" Sirius questioned.

"There's a little bit of a festival in town tomorrow, in honor of one of the men who once lived here," Patrick explained. "Tomorrow's the anniversary of his death – of course, I can never remember the exact date, but it's been several hundred years – and he was quite a benevolent figure in his time, Ignotus Peverell."

"Ignotus Peverell?" Sirius repeated. "But he was a wizard, wasn't he?"

"He was," Patrick confirmed with a nod. "The townsfolk didn't know that, of course, unless they were magic themselves, but he was kind and generous to everyone, and Godric's Hollow has seen fit to remember him for it ever since he died. There's to be food and drink, and all sorts of entertainment, including a performance of 'The Tale of the Three Brothers' – I'm sure you know it?"

"That's one of Beedle's," Sirius said. "How can they get away with that? And what does that have to do with Ignotus Peverell?"

"Come now, my boy," Patrick said with a chuckle. "Surely if you know the tale, you know that it's not something that will make the Muggles suspect – they just think it's an entertaining story, even if the rest of us know better. And surely you've heard tell that Ignotus and his brothers were supposedly the brothers of the tale?"

"That's debatable," Sirius replied, "but I have heard that."

"Regardless of what you believe, you'll be wanting to see the show tomorrow," Patrick said. "The troupe that puts it on is quite good, you know."

"We'll consider it," Sirius promised. Patrick nodded.

"Good lad. Siobhan or I will bring up some dinner around seven, if that's fine with you."

"Thank you."

"Not a problem, my boy." Patrick flashed them one last grin before closing the door, his heavy footsteps discernible as he headed back downstairs.

"So…care to explain what all that was about?" Harry asked, looking thoroughly bewildered.

"Well, I think the parts about Bathilda and the festival are self-explanatory, no?" Sirius teased.

"You know I meant the rest of it, Padfoot," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"Do you recall a story called 'The Tale of the Three Brothers', from Beedle the Bard?" Sirius asked.

"Not really, no," Harry admitted. "I remember Mum reading 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune' quite a bit, but I don't remember anything about three brothers."

"Well, then my story isn't going to make much sense," Sirius said. "In that case, we'll go see the performance tomorrow – I'm sure the actors will do a much better job telling it than I could – and then I'll tell you about the Peverells afterwards."

* * *

The next day was a busy one. As Patrick had promised, the residents of Godric's Hollow began setting up for the festival well before dawn, so by the time the sun rose, dozens of little stalls had sprung up in the cobbled streets. A stage had been erected in the middle of the square, the deep purple curtains drawn for now but promising to reveal their wonders at the start of the noon performance, and the air was filled with excitement and anticipation. After a hearty breakfast, Harry and Sirius began to explore the stalls, which offered everything from sizzling sausages to handmade pieces of jewelry. The square grew more crowded as the noon hour drew near, and by a quarter to twelve, almost everyone had gathered around the stage. The church bells rang out the hour, and the curtain parted, revealing a beautifully painted backdrop of a forest scene. A single set piece – a bridge – sat in the middle of the stage.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to this afternoon's performance!" The speaker was a handsome young man wearing robes and a long cloak – Harry supposed it was his costume, but the man would not have looked out of place in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade.

"In honor of our noble ancestor, Ignotus Peverell, we humbly present 'The Tale of the Three Brothers' – we hope you enjoy the show." The young man bowed to the crowd and stepped back as another actor, this one a young woman in a flowing green dress, stepped up to center stage and began to speak.

_"There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across…"_

Harry watched and listened, rapt with attention, as the troupe acted out the tale to the young woman's narrations. The three brothers, of course, were wizards, and as such used magic to construct a bridge across the treacherous river. Death, angered at being cheated, offered each of them a gift in exchange for their cleverness – the first requested an unbeatable wand; the second, the power to bring back the dead; and the third, something that would enable him to leave the scene without being followed by Death. Death fulfilled their wishes, gifting the first brother with a wand he crafted from a nearby elder tree, the second with a stone he said would do as the man requested, and the third – quite unwillingly – with his own invisibility cloak. The brothers separated then, each going his own way.

The tale then took a darker turn as it followed the brothers' adventures – Death, of course, is not supposed to be fooled, and the elder two brothers soon met their ends, ironically enough, at the hands of the very gifts they'd received. The third brother, however, had been wise in his request, and Death was unable to find him no matter how hard he searched. It wasn't until the third brother finally removed the invisibility cloak and passed it down to his son that he greeted Death and passed willingly from this world.

Harry clapped loudly when the performance finished – the troupe really had done a splendid job. He still didn't know what the tale had to do with Ignotus Peverell, though, and he questioned Sirius again as they browsed the stalls in search of lunch. After purchasing some sandwiches, Sirius found them a grassy spot perfect for a picnic, and they settled down to eat.

"'The Tale of the Three Brothers' is probably one of Beedle's most debated stories – not for the issues it does or does not present, but because many people believe it to be based in fact," Sirius began. "Many people believe that Ignotus Peverell and his two brothers – Cadmus and Antioch, I believe they were called – experienced something similar to what happens in the tale. Not necessarily that they met Death, of course, but people argue that the gifts given by Death in the tale are real."

"How do they figure that?" Harry asked around a mouthful of ham and cheese.

"Well, there are accounts of formidable wands scattered throughout Wizarding history," Sirius said. "That's where they usually start their claims – with the wand. They then move to the invisibility cloak – while rare and expensive, such items are definitely attainable. However, they tend not to last very long – the spells over them start to fade, or the Demiguise hair used to make them starts to lose its power. The stone, of course, is where the real problem lies – no magic can properly awaken the dead. The dead can choose to come back as ghosts, of course, and there are spells – most of them Dark magic – that can reanimate a corpse or create a realistic impression of someone who's passed, but nothing can _truly_ bring someone back once they've died."

"Just like the second brother found out when he tried to bring back his fiancée," Harry said. The attempt had only brought about a sad, silent shadow of the girl, and the second brother had eventually been driven to suicide to truly join his love.

"Yes, exactly. And so the stone causes the most problems – but in spite of it all, some people still believe. The legend says that anyone who can unite the 'Deathly Hallows' will be the successful 'Master of Death', and many are on a quest to do just that. Right waste of time, if you ask me."

Harry chewed the rest of his sandwich as he contemplated Sirius' words. It was a strange tale to be sure – but then, he'd encountered plenty of strange things in the Wizarding world. Nothing was _truly_ impossible, he'd learned, unless he'd seen concrete proof. Deciding to put that thought away for later perusal, Harry suggested that they explore the festival until teatime.

Bathilda Bagshot lived alone in a little cottage on the road leading out of Godric's Hollow. The house was cluttered with all sorts of knick-knacks and lace doilies, though it was reasonably clean – Harry suspected that this was Patrick and Siobhan's doing, as it was fairly obvious from the moment Bathilda opened the door that she wasn't in a state to do much cleaning. The old woman's lack of height was even more pronounced by the bend in her back, and she shuffled very slowly down the hallway of her home as she led her visitors to the sitting room.

"How can I help you?" she asked, pronouncing each word carefully in a thick, hoarse voice. "Dear Patrick said you were in need of some assistance and wished to speak with me."

"We do, Miss Bagshot," Harry replied as he stirred his tea. "We were hoping you might be able to help us with something related to Godric Gryffindor."

"Godric Gryffindor…" Bathilda tapped her spoon against her teacup and set it down on the tray. "Such a fine young man, yes, very fine indeed." She smiled up at them, revealing many toothless gaps, and Harry wondered at the wording of her statement. Godric Gryffindor had lived over a thousand years ago, and yet Bathilda spoke of him as if she'd known him. Even Nicolas Flamel hadn't been born for another three hundred years after Gryffindor's death, and Flamel had the aid of the philosopher's stone…was Bathilda entirely _sane?_

"Yes, Gryffindor was a fine man," Bathilda said once more. "What did you wish to know, Mr. Potter?"

"Have you ever heard of Gryffindor owning a ring?" Harry asked. "It would have been scarlet and gold, probably inlaid with rubies." Bathilda paused and furrowed her brow in thought.

"I have done and read much in the field of magical history," she said. "I have mapped out important events in the Wizarding world from before Hogwarts was even a thought in the minds of the founders, and I have traveled extensively to compile research on the goblin rebellions."

_"Oh, yes, the goblin rebellions,"_ Harry thought with a snort. _"Binns is a bit too much of a fan of those, and not in a way that's even remotely interesting."_ He kept his thoughts to himself, however, deciding it wouldn't be a good idea to insult their hostess.

"I have also done extensive work related to Godric Gryffindor's life. He was a fine man."

"Yes, you did say that," Sirius said.

"A fine man. He was born here, in Godric's Hollow – no one quite knows for sure if that was the village's original name, or if it was changed in his honor. He traveled far and wide, and spent many a year bringing the concept of Wizarding education to life, but he always returned here, always returned to his roots." Bathilda sipped her tea, setting the cup down very slowly and deliberately before speaking again.

"Gryffindor carried a sword, an expertly crafted blade inlaid with rubies as big as a fist. His hat was later bequeathed to Hogwarts and enchanted to perform the Sorting Ceremony. I cannot say that I have heard of this ring of which you speak."

Harry tried to hide his disappointment. A dead end! And he was so sure that Bathilda would have been able to help them…

"Excuse me, Miss Bagshot," Sirius said. "Perhaps we phrased our question poorly. You see, Gryffindor definitely _created_ this ring, but he might not have worn it himself. It was part of a set, and each founder contributed one."

"Many claims regarding Gryffindor's possessions have surfaced over the centuries, and all have been proven false. There is the rumor that something has been hidden in the local inn, but nothing has ever been found."

"You don't mean the Golden Lion?" Sirius questioned.

"The Golden Lion, yes. Named in honor of Gryffindor – a fine man. As both of his only known possessions are currently at Hogwarts, we historians cannot lay any truth to this claim." Harry and Sirius exchanged looks, somehow knowing they weren't going to get anything else useful out of her.

"Thank you for your time, Miss Bagshot," Harry said as soon as was polite. Bathilda beamed and saw them to the door, and the two wizards returned to the village square as quickly as they could. The inn was blissfully empty save for Patrick, who was doing some cleaning behind the bar.

"Hello, lads!" he greeted. "What can I do for you?"

"What can you tell us about this place?" Harry asked without preamble.

"You mean this inn?" Patrick clarified. At Harry's nod, he said, "Well, I don't know all that much, to be truthful, but I know it was built roughly three hundred years ago, give or take a few decades – nobody's really quite sure on the exact date. The original owner was a chap who'd been in Gryffindor House at Hogwarts and wanted to add something to the town to honor his founder – see, until then, there wasn't anything of the sort around here. They say that something of Gryffindor's was hidden here shortly after that, but that's mostly just a rumor."

"What did they say was hidden? And where?" Sirius asked. Patrick raised his eyebrows.

"Why the sudden interest?" he asked.

"Bathilda wasn't able to help us much, but she did mention that rumor," Sirius said. "If something is hidden here, we need to find it, because we think it might be what we're looking for – tying back to that Order business, you know."

"Well, all I can tell you is that it's supposedly hidden somewhere marked by Gryffindor's seal, but this place has been scoured top to bottom time and time again," Patrick said. "You're welcome to look, of course, but I'm not making any promises that you'll find what you're after." Harry and Sirius nodded in understanding, and the two wizards began their search. Several hours later, however, they were disappointedly empty-handed.

"Nothing," Harry said, dropping into the closest empty chair with a sigh. "What are we going to do now, Padfoot?"

"I'm not sure," Sirius admitted. "I'd hate to give up now, but we're running out of time." They sat deep in thought for several long moments.

"Is it strange that nobody can say when this inn was built?" Harry asked suddenly.

"A bit, but it's not unheard of in the Wizarding world, especially with older buildings," Sirius replied. "Why do you ask?"

"The only other place I've heard of with an uncertain founding date is Hogwarts. St. Mungo's, the Ministry, Hogsmeade, even Godric's Hollow – they all have specific founding years at the very least. What makes this place different?"

"That _does_ seem odd, now that you mention it," Sirius said. "Oy, Patrick! D'you happen to know where this building's cornerstone is?"

"I do, because it's in such an odd place," Patrick replied. "Most cornerstones are on the front of the building, so everyone can see the engraving, you know? But this place's cornerstone is on the back, furthest from the road – and it's blank." He gestured for them to follow, and they walked around the back of the inn to the far left corner.

"That one," Patrick said, pointing to a stone that had a reddish hue instead of the gray stone of the rest of the structure. Harry and Sirius knelt to examine it.

"Harry's question about the lack of a founding date is very odd," Sirius murmured, running his hand over the cornerstone. Bits of dirt tumbled to the ground, and Sirius raised his eyebrows at the gap that appeared at the top of the stone. Intrigued, he maneuvered his fingers into the crack.

"Something's off here," he said. He continued to fuss around with the crack, and all three wizards gasped when the front of the cornerstone broke off completely.

"A false front," Harry said, his eyes wide. There was no doubt that Sirius had unveiled the real cornerstone – they couldn't read all of the antiquated language, but they recognized the name 'Gryffindor', as well as the year 1676.

"Now you know when this place was built," Sirius quipped. He raised his wand and began scanning the cornerstone. "Hmm…there don't seem to be any wards on it."

"They probably weren't expecting anyone to find it," Patrick said. "After all, if nobody's been able to determine a date of construction in over three hundred years, I think it's safe to say that this is a decent hiding place."

"Can you open it?" Harry asked eagerly.

"That would require me to know how it was locked in the first place," Sirius said with a frown.

"Well, how would a true Gryffindor lock it?" Patrick questioned. Harry's eyes lit up mischievously as the thought came to him.

"Like this," he said, pointing his wand at the stone. _"Alohomora."_ As the simple spell hit the stone, it shifted smoothly away from the wall like a small drawer. Sirius barked out a laugh.

"Only a true Gryffindor would be so bold," he said with a grin. _"Alohomora_ indeed…" He reached into the cornerstone, removing a small wooden box with a beautiful carving of a lion on the lid. Sensing that his godson was about to burst, Sirius carefully opened the box.

* * *

**A/N: Hehehe...this chapter gave me so much grief, I'm glad it's done. &amp; I changed my mind - I'm going to post chapter 8 right after this, since it's done anyway, so you get 2 chapters tonight. Yay! That catches us up with everything I wrote over break.**

**Thank you for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading!**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	8. Secrets Found Upstairs

Draco took several long minutes to process what had just happened, almost unable to believe it. Against all odds, Hermione's father was alive! Imagining Hermione's reaction, the cry of amazement and the tears of happiness she'd undoubtedly shed as she threw her arms around her father, made Draco smile – Hermione was very close to both of her parents, but she'd always been Daddy's little girl. Thinking of Hermione made him sad and a little anxious – Draco wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms and know that she was safe – but he also knew that Hermione was more than capable of taking care of herself, and he'd see her tonight back at Hogwarts. The thought spurred him to action, and he left the cellar, the door closing behind him as he made his way back up to the ground floor. Deciding it was time to move upstairs, Draco made for the grand staircase, the banister cool to the touch, and began to climb.

The first thing he noticed was the enormous tapestry that took up almost the entire wall on the first floor landing. It was the Malfoy family tree, and it couldn't have been more different from the Blacks' – the fabric was a delicate off-white color, the names and dates stitched in fine gold, and it was immaculate. Not a single name had been blasted off the Malfoy tapestry, and the family motto – _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper – _marched smartly across the top. Draco thought that the tapestry was almost _too_ perfect, to be honest – despite clearly being centuries old, the fabric didn't even bear so much as a smudge, and each individual's name was centered _exactly_ beneath those of his or her parents. If Draco had to guess, he'd say that the reason the tapestry was so perfect was because it simply edited out anyone who 'shouldn't be there'. It was a bit hard to test that theory, though – he knew of many names removed from the Black family tree, of course, but the only Black here was Narcissa, included via her marriage to Lucius. In any case, it seemed a reasonable conclusion. As he examined the more recent names, Draco recalled what he'd said to Hermione upon the creation of the 'Blasted off the Tapestry' Club:

_"Someday down the road, I'll get myself blasted off for real for marrying a Muggle-born and make it official, but for now, consider yourself in."_

Since the 'blasting' of the Black tapestry was done manually, Draco doubted his name would leave that one no matter what he did – the only remaining Blacks had nothing against Muggle-borns, after all – but he still had a good chance to shake up its Malfoy counterpart. Snorting in amusement at the thought, Draco continued his explorations.

The upper floors consisted mostly of bedrooms and private studies, though there was a tower leading to an owlery at one end of the house. One of the studies was an absolute wreck, and Draco suspected this was the room that haunted him every time a Dementor drew near, the room in which his father's uncontrolled magic had nearly killed him over a decade ago. Draco left this particular room as quickly as he could and found himself in another destroyed room, this one a bedroom.

Unlike the rest of the house, this room screamed of the Malfoys' heritage – the color scheme consisted of Slytherin greens, silvers, and blacks, and the Malfoy crest had been painstakingly painted on the wall over the headboard. It must have been a handsome room at one point, but something had obviously happened to change that – the bed frame was cracked in half, the hangings and sheets charred, and there were burn marks aplenty littering the walls. The room had suffered plenty of other serious damages as well, and Draco couldn't fathom why. He knew about the destroyed study, of course, but he couldn't remember this room at all. After a search of the room, the only thing he'd found was a small stuffed animal, a dog. He stared at the pup for a long time, wondering where it had come from – he himself still had a stuffed dragon at home from when he was small, one Lily said had been gifted to him at birth by Narcissa, but was it possible this little dog had been his as well? He'd certainly had plenty of toys when he'd moved into the Potter-Black household. Deciding it couldn't hurt to keep it, Draco shrunk the stuffed animal and put it in his pocket.

Draco couldn't say how, but he somehow knew without a doubt that the next room he stopped in was his own. The room was not, as he'd expected, furnished in Slytherin colors, but rather in a pleasing navy and cream combination that reminded him of the sea, the furniture a warm chocolate brown. The wardrobe and nightstands were empty, as was the adjoining bathroom, which only further supported Draco's thoughts, as his things had all gone with him when he'd left the manor. A small settee and two armchairs sat before the fireplace, and there was a handsome writing desk in one corner. A set of French doors led to a small balcony that overlooked the gardens, and for the first time since entering the house, Draco felt at home – for however short a time, this space had been his, and the familiar reassurance still lingered.

The next thing to catch Draco's eye was a life-sized portrait hung outside what he guessed was the master suite. For the first time since finding the portrait of Lucius on his horse, Draco recognized the painting's occupants – it was a portrait of his immediate family, frozen just like all the rest. At the center of the portrait was Narcissa, seated in a winged armchair with her blonde hair in an elegant twist and her amethyst-colored robes arranged just so. The child in her lap was unmistakably Draco himself, probably no more than two years of age, sitting up very straight with his hands folded. Beside the chair stood Lucius, draped in fine robes trimmed in the same shade as his wife's, with a haughty smirk on his face. His positioning, however, struck Draco as odd – one hand grasped the head of an ornate cane while the other rested on the back of the chair containing his wife and son, but he stood more than a foot away from the chair, almost as if there was supposed to be something else in between. One of the dogs, perhaps? Maybe one was supposed to sit there while the other lay on the floor at Narcissa's feet? But then, why would the portrait have been hung if it wasn't finished? Draco was no expert when it came to art, but it was fairly obvious that every portrait he'd come across, including this one, was a painting, not a photograph, and he'd never heard of anyone displaying incomplete artwork before. Left with more questions than answers, Draco turned away from the portrait and entered the only room he hadn't yet explored on this floor – his father's study.

Lucius' study was dark – dark walls, dark furnishings, dark accents. The window was open, and a sinister-looking bird sat on a perch nearby – it was the first sign of life Draco had seen since Dobby had left with Bob Granger, but though the bird was intimidating, Draco wasn't as surprised by its presence as he might've been. Lucius had, after all, kept hunting hounds, so it wasn't far-fetched to think he'd kept birds for a similar purpose, and of course birds of prey could easily take care of themselves. The fireplace sprang to life upon Draco's entry, possibly enchanted to recognize the master of the house, and, taking care to avoid the bird, Draco wasted no time in beginning to explore the contents of the desk. To his disappointment, he didn't find anything of note, and he suspected that anything important was probably locked up in a safe – but where was the safe?

"Look behind the tapestry."

Draco, his wand instantly drawn, whirled around so fast that he nearly fell over.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

"On the wall, by the window." The voice was a woman's, soft and musical, and Draco gasped when he saw where it had come from. There was a portrait – and it was _moving._

"Are you…" Draco began as he stepped towards the portrait. The subject gave a small smile and nodded.

"I am Narcissa Malfoy," she said.

Draco gazed hungrily at the painting. His mother appeared far younger in this portrait than in the one he'd seen earlier – not much older than himself, really. She wore a flowing, sky blue robe that matched her eyes, and her blonde hair hung loose down her back, with just a small section at the front pinned back in a crystal clip. Tall and slim, she sat perched on a garden bench surrounded by rosebushes in full bloom, one hand lovingly caressing the blossoms. The stories didn't exaggerate – Narcissa truly had been a beautiful woman.

"You've grown so much," the portrait said, bringing Draco back to his surroundings. "Such a handsome boy – oh, if only she could see you…" She paused and frowned. _"What_ are you wearing, Draco?"

Draco glanced down at himself and nearly laughed aloud. When he'd gotten dressed that morning, he'd hardly given his jeans and trainers a second thought – he was probably the first person to ever set foot inside Malfoy Manor wearing such blatantly Muggle clothing.

"In case you've forgotten, I _was_ raised in a Muggle neighborhood, Mother," he said teasingly. "I can't exactly walk down the road in robes in that case."

"I suppose not," the portrait agreed, though she still looked a bit perplexed by his clothing choice. "And call me Narcissa, please." It was Draco's turn to look confused.

"But…you're my mother, are you not?"

"No, not really," Narcissa said. "I am a portrait of your mother, yes, but what I know of her is limited to my experiences after being painted and hung here – I do not retain all of your mother's thoughts or memories and could not, for instance, talk of her childhood or her Hogwarts days."

"So you know nothing of the Tonks family?" Draco questioned. Narcissa smiled sadly.

"Only that she regretted disowning her sister until her dying day," she replied quietly. "Especially once she saw you were in danger, she realized that life was too short to shun family that way – of course, by that point, the rest of the portraits had been frozen for quite some time, and I could no longer visit her in her suite like I used to. I only knew what I heard when she came to this room, which wasn't often."

"Why were the other portraits frozen?" Draco asked.

"Lucius always said it was because of the many Death Eaters in his home. He felt that it was safe to keep only those of us in the most private places as we were." Her answer made sense, but at the same time, it didn't – for instance, there were portraits in some of the bedrooms, and they were just as still as the rest. Draco sensed that there was more to the story, but a glance at his watch told him that there wasn't time to ask. The Portkey was due to activate very soon. He told Narcissa this, and when he asked if she knew of a safe, she once again directed him to the tapestry on the opposite wall. The tapestry, which featured a woodland scene that could very well have been the Forbidden Forest, slid aside as if on an invisible curtain rod to reveal a small metal door about chest height.

"Your hand on the door should open it," Narcissa instructed. "It recognizes the master of the house." Draco touched his hand to the safe as she suggested and was rewarded with a small _click_ as soon as his palm made contact with the cool metal. The safe contained mostly papers, but tucked in the back corner was what he'd been hoping to find – a dark velvet jewelry box. The box's lid was emblazoned with the Malfoy crest, and though it looked very old indeed, it was obviously well cared for. Draco popped it open and couldn't believe his luck when he saw what was inside. It was clear that this was the piece his grandparents had passed down to his parents, as he couldn't think of anything else that would warrant such secrecy and care, for nestled inside the box's plush cushioning was a green and silver ring…a ring that appeared to be made of plastic…_Salazar Slytherin's ring._ Without hesitation, he plucked it from the case and unclasped his necklace, slipping the band on the chain to join his mother's engagement ring.

Draco had only just hooked the necklace back together when the portrait behind him shrieked.

* * *

**A/N: I told you things would get interesting in part 6...what do you think?**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	9. Questions and Answers

Hermione, Ginny, and Tonks ended their whirlwind flight from Salem's archives in a heap on Aunt Diane's front lawn, Tonks' clumsiness carrying over into her Apparition technique.

"Oof!" Ginny grunted. "Tonks, lay off the cauldron cakes, would you? You're crushing my-"

"Never mind that," Hermione quickly cut in, hastily pushing herself up off the ground. "What were you thinking, Apparating here? We could've been seen!"

"Could have, but didn't," Tonks replied, finally hoisting herself up as well, much to Ginny's relief. "I did a quick scan as soon as we got here – nobody's around."

"D'you think your aunt has any leftovers from the other night?" Ginny asked as she brushed herself off. "We didn't exactly have a chance to grab dinner before we left…" Hermione, however, was now staring at the ring they'd just acquired and didn't appear to have heard her.

"Herms? Are you alright?" Ginny asked. "You look…worried." Hermione looked up.

"I guess it really hit me just now – we _stole_ this," she said slowly. "They were so kind, welcomed us into their school, and we thanked them by stealing something important to them." Ginny and Tonks looked uncomfortable.

"We did agree that was probably the only way we could get the ring," Tonks said, but she looked like she was doubting her own words.

"We didn't even try asking first," Hermione said, sounding miserable. "And now I feel like I've done something terrible."

"Maybe we could make it up to them somehow?" Ginny suggested.

"How?" Hermione sniffed.

"I dunno – write them an apology letter, maybe, and explain why we did what we did? I don't know that we can offer to return the ring – we're counting on it too much – but maybe we can make it up to them somehow."

"That's not a bad idea," Tonks agreed. "It doesn't sound like much, and it doesn't make up for it, but an explanation might be better than nothing. And if it makes you feel any better, Hermione, I never feel all that great when I have to do something like this at work – you do what you have to do, but that doesn't always soothe your conscience."

"I think writing them would make me feel better," Hermione said.

"Then that's what we'll do," Ginny decided. The trio headed inside, saying hello to Diane and grabbing something to eat. Once they'd finished, they headed upstairs to the guest room and settled down to draft their letter. It was very late indeed by the time they had something that satisfied them all, and as Hermione added her signature, Ginny voiced a new concern.

"How are we going to get this to them?" she wondered. "They contacted us first when we got here – you initially wrote them from home – and we don't have access to an owl here, or know how to find one."

"There was a little post box in the Salem line station," Hermione said. "If nothing else, we can leave it there." Ginny nodded, apparently satisfied with that answer, and it wasn't long before they'd changed into pajamas and crawled into bed. Their flight to London was the following evening, and as exciting as the trip had been, they were all more than ready to go home.

Their first stop the next morning was Arrow Street. Just as Hermione had remembered, there was a mailbox in the station, and they dropped their letter in, an audible 'whoosh' sound suggesting that it had just been magically transported to its destination.

"I'd imagine that's how a lot of parents send letters here," Ginny said as they climbed back into the car. "Quite convenient, isn't it – and it'd be a bit difficult to explain owning an owl around here, I'd think."

"Especially if you lived right in the city," Hermione agreed. "I've never quite understood how Diagon Alley and the Ministry do it – both are right in the middle of London; you'd think the Muggles would have noticed the owls by now."

"Well, our inter-departmental memos are paper aeroplanes, of course, but you're right, that doesn't cover correspondence from outside the building, and we definitely get plenty of it," Tonks said. "Maybe we should ask Kingsley – he might know."

The trio continued to ponder the intricacies of owl post as Diane drove across the city, eventually finding a parking spot near a large building with a columned façade. The girls stared at the large building in fascination as they crossed the road, Diane leading the way.

"Welcome to the Museum of Fine Arts – the MFA," Diane said as they crossed the expansive front walk. "It's not nearly as large as the British Museum, of course, but it's still a fine collection and definitely worth a visit." They purchased their tickets and were soon exploring the museum's many different galleries. Ginny particularly enjoyed the ancient Egypt exhibit, having visited that country the summer before her second year, Hermione lingered near the Impressionist works and was also impressed by some of their musical instruments, and Tonks had fun examining some of the more abstract paintings.

"I think it looks better this way," she declared, tilting her head to the left as she looked at a particularly unusual canvas. The others laughed and began contorting themselves to examine the work from all angles, though they ultimately disagreed on which way should be 'up'.

The quartet spent the better part of the day enjoying the museum and the surrounding area, which was home to a number of Boston's many universities. In the afternoon, they received a response from Salem's Head of School – while the woman thoroughly disapproved of their methods, she respected their need for the ring and gave them her blessing to keep it.

_"Wartime makes us do things we would not normally do under normal circumstances, and I understand that your situation is graver than most," _she wrote. _"I truly hope that your quest to unite the rings is successful and that this conflict comes to an end soon. If you ever find yourselves in need of further assistance, please do not hesitate to call on us – though the distance is great, the goal is the same, and we wish to help our friends in any way we can."_

Hermione promptly burst into tears when she finished reading the letter.

"We _stole_ from them, and they still find it in their hearts to call us friends," she whimpered. Ginny could only pat her back soothingly while Tonks looked on with a bemused expression, unsure of how to comfort her distraught friend when she felt just as bad.

Once Hermione had finally calmed down, they all went downtown for one last taste of New England seafood, and not long after that, it was time to head to the airport. Each of the girls thanked Diane profusely for her wonderful hospitality, and the American woman assured them that they were always welcome in her home.

"Thank you, Aunt Diane," Hermione said softly as they embraced. "Thank you for everything."

"Of course, sweetheart. It was the least I could do."

Diane stayed with the girls until their boarding call came, and they waved fondly as they made their way to the tunnel leading to the plane. After a long several days, they were finally going home.

The flight home was uneventful, and they'd all managed to get at least a little sleep by the time they were circling Heathrow Airport – Diane had stressed several times how important it was to get back on schedule as soon as possible when they returned, which would mean eating and sleeping at times their bodies would find odd. After debarking the plane and making sure that they hadn't left anything behind, they found a deserted alley and Disapparated back to Grimmauld Place. The house was empty, and the girls took advantage of the quiet to unpack, shower, and otherwise freshen up before lunch. Their Portkey activated in the early afternoon, the jerk behind their navels sending them tumbling through space as they clung to the small token they'd been given. They touched down in the headmaster's office, though they were greeted not by Dumbledore, but Snape.

"Professor!" Ginny cried in shock. "We weren't expecting-"

"What was the detention you supervised at the end of the summer term in my first year?" Hermione interrupted.

"Yourself, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, and Mr. Longbottom cleaned cauldrons in my classroom and were not allowed to attend the end-of-term feast," Snape replied smoothly. "Miss Weasley, I suggest you keep Miss Granger's actions in mind for the future – security questions are a necessity if you wish to stay alive."

"Yes, sir," Ginny replied, properly chastised. Having heard the Order exchanging answers to their own security questions at Grimmauld Place countless times before, she knew she should have known better.

"What was the result of the duel in the corridor outside my classroom in your fourth year, Miss Granger?" Snape asked.

"Goyle was hit with a Furnunculus Jinx, and I ended up with broken braces and front teeth past my chin," Hermione said, wincing slightly at the memory. True, she'd let Madam Pomfrey carry on with her shrinking charm and now had lovely normal teeth, but she could have done without the pain and humiliation.

"Aren't you going to question us as well?" Ginny asked Snape.

"There is no need," Snape said. "The three of you arrived together, and unless either of you left Miss Granger's company for an inexplicable amount of time between your departure from the States and now, there is no reason to suspect that either of you has been compromised."

"Where are the others?" Tonks wanted to know.

"They have not yet arrived – I believe the headmaster staggered the departure times of the Portkeys, although the reasoning escapes me," Snape drawled almost lazily. "He is absent due to Order business but assured me that you would all be here by the evening meal."

"But it's only just gone two o'clock!" Hermione protested after glancing at her watch. "Dinner is several hours from now – what on earth are we supposed to do until then?"

"Miss Granger, supposedly you are intelligent – I'm sure you can think of something."

* * *

"Bloody hell," Sirius said, letting out a long, low whistle. "Whoever built this place knew what they were doing."

"Or perhaps it was a descendant who discovered how to use the cornerstone," Patrick suggested. He looked at the object in the box and frowned. "Although I'm not sure why you'd bother to hide that, to be honest." Harry laughed.

"It might not look like much, but it belonged to Gryffindor himself," he said. "It's got quite the Glamour Charm on it – if the right person were to wear it, though, it would show its true colors."

"The right person?" Patrick questioned.

"It's a long story, but this ring is one of a set, designed by the founders to help protect Hogwarts by channeling its magic," Harry explained. "The rings must be worn by people who embody the prized characteristics of each of the four houses."

"Well, you're definitely a Gryffindor," Sirius said, plucking the ring from the box. "Why don't you try it on?" Harry carefully accepted the ring from his godfather's outstretched hand and slipped it on his finger, but nothing happened.

"Guess not," he said, removing the ring and sliding it onto his necklace instead. "Remember, we still don't know what the extra rules from the prophecy mean – just because I'm a good example of a Gryffindor doesn't mean I fit the prophecy's requirements."

"Divination was never really my forte, so I'm afraid I can't help you there," Patrick admitted.

"The wording's a bit confusing – something to do with 'the enemy's ignorance', whatever that is – but I'm sure it'll make sense eventually," Harry replied. "At least, I hope it will."

They carefully replaced the carved box – they only needed the contents, after all, and they all felt like the box belonged in the cornerstone – and slid the cornerstone back into place. Patrick invited his guests inside for one last cup of tea, which they gladly accepted, and Harry and Sirius bid their friends a fond farewell after exchanging hugs and promises to write. They returned to the alley they'd Apparated into at the start of their trip, and they were soon whisked away by the Portkey. Harry was thrilled to see that the girls had already arrived, but he remembered protocol and asked Hermione his security question.

"What was the very first Quidditch match we attended together?"

"Puddlemere's annual game against the Heidelberg Harriers," Hermione answered immediately. "I was eight, you and Draco were seven. How did I get hurt when we went after the philosopher's stone?"

"Fluffy scratched your leg," Harry replied. "You were bleeding and it hurt you to walk." Satisfied with the respective responses, they flew into each other's arms.

"I missed you," Harry said as they pulled out of the hug.

"I missed you too," Hermione said with a smile. "Now we just have to wait for Draco. Go say hi to the others." Harry immediately did as she suggested, and though he was mindful of the adults in the room, he did make sure to give Ginny an extra squeeze and the promise of a proper hello when they were alone.

Sirius wasn't sure, but he thought he recalled Draco or Lupin mentioning that their Portkey wasn't going to activate until dinnertime. The group passed the time swapping stories of their adventures, though they didn't share much as they'd just have to repeat it all when Draco arrived. Sometime in the late afternoon, a werewolf Patronus appeared, speaking in Lupin's voice and urging them to return to Grimmauld Place as soon as possible. While they were certainly intrigued by Lupin's message, they were reluctant to leave Hogwarts without Draco, Harry and Hermione especially so – finally, they decided to send Sirius back to London first, where he would find out what had happened and decide if the rest of them needed to follow immediately. As Snape had already been charged with returning them all to headquarters, nobody objected to this plan, and Sirius left the office soon after. Roughly twenty minutes later, they received a second Patronus, this one from Sirius, saying that they should come as soon as Draco arrived, and that the blond would be coming alone, as Lupin was already in London. The message ended there, and while they were all wondering why Lupin and Draco had split up, they knew it was useless to inquire further, and they fell to pacing and watching the clock in turns.

At the stroke of seven, Harry was nearly bowled over by Draco's sudden arrival.

"Merlin, Drake, give a bloke some warning!" he said, though he was laughing as he regained his balance. He opened his mouth to ask Draco his security question, but Hermione beat him to it – except hers wasn't a question at all.

"Dragon, my soul was weak, forgive me…"

Harry stared at Hermione in confusion. He supposed the line meant something to his brother and best friend, but he had no idea what it could be. Draco, however, merely cocked his head and regarded Hermione calmly.

"Hermione, there's nothing to forgive."

* * *

**A/N: So now that you have both chapter 8 &amp; chapter 9...what happened? (You might want to have another look at the garden scene from the Yule Ball - chapter 13 of WFCTC... ;) )**

**Thank you for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading!**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	10. Reunions

Hermione had her wand out before anyone else could even think to question their unusual exchange.

_"Stupefy!"_

"Hermione, what the-"

_"Incarcerous! _Harry, _no!" _Harry too had drawn his wand, presumably to reverse the jinxes that had just sent an unconscious Draco toppling face first into the carpet, bound head to toe in thick ropes, but Hermione all but threw herself between the two boys and determinedly blocked his attempts. Snape, Tonks, and Ginny were all on their feet, staring between Harry and Hermione in confusion.

"Will someone please explain what the hell is going on?" Ginny demanded.

"That's not Draco," Hermione said firmly.

"What d'you mean that's not Draco?" Harry asked.

"Harry, he answered wrong," Hermione almost snapped. "I could tell by the looks on your faces that you had no idea what that song meant, and rightly so - that was something only the real Draco should know, and it was something that he would neither forget nor ever even think to give up. Even if he'd gotten the answer right, he's still missing something - he's not wearing his necklace. Have you _ever _known Draco to take his necklace off?"

Harry rolled the body on the floor onto its back so they could see the neck. Hermione was right - the familiar glint of gold was missing.

"The imposter managed to mimic Draco's usual attire fairly well, I'll give him that - probably a duplication spell on whatever Draco was wearing today," Hermione began. She glanced over at Snape, silently questioning if her theory was plausible - the Potions master said nothing but nodded in acknowledgement.

"That necklace, though, wouldn't have copied - it's impervious to that sort of thing, and of course we know that only the owner can take it off. Whoever this is didn't consider the possibility that Draco always wears the necklace - a minor detail, to be sure, but one that cost him."

"Well, at least one of you pays attention to detail," Tonks said with a low whistle. "The question is - if that's not Draco, then who is it, and where _is_ Draco?"

"I suspect that Mr. Black is still at Malfoy Manor," Snape said, speaking for the first time. "That house has largely been left alone for the last ten years, as the Dark Lord's forces see no reason to return. The fact that this person took the time and risk to either brew or steal Polyjuice potion - no charm can duplicate a person's looks quite so effectively - and then sneak into the manor to confront Mr. Black leads me to believe that he is working alone. Lupin found it acceptable to leave Draco on his own - he would not have done so if there were any hint of a large group on the property."

"What are we going to do, Professor?" Hermione asked.

"You, Miss Granger, are going to remain here - all of you. Tonks, you are an Auror - you should know what to do. Call for Shacklebolt if you feel you need assistance, he will come. I will go to the manor." Without waiting for acknowledgement or acceptance of his plan, Snape swept from the office.

* * *

Draco groaned, resisting the urge to put a hand to the throbbing pain he could feel on the back of his head - he must've hit it harder than he thought. He yelped and scrambled for his wand when he realized he wasn't alone.

"Mr. Black, calm yourself," a deep voice drawled. Draco blinked several times, and the stern face of Severus Snape swam into focus.

"Professor..." he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Fixing your mistakes, you foolish boy!" Snape spat. "What were you thinking, coming into this house alone? Telling Lupin to leave you here, alone? Leaving the house unwarded while you explored it, _alone?"_

"Lupin couldn't get in, it wasn't his fault!" Draco retorted. "There was a ward preventing werewolves from entering - and what do you mean, I left the house unwarded? I felt them shift when I walked through!"

"That doesn't mean you _fixed_ them, Draco, they just recognized you as the master of the house! Obviously whoever arranged this little outing neglected to tell you exactly what needed to be done to secure the place." Snape trailed off before muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "Imbeciles."

"Lupin left because I asked him to," Draco said. "He couldn't enter the grounds anyway, and I found Bob Granger - Hermione's father - in the cellar. He was still alive, Professor - I couldn't just leave him to die. Dobby took him to Lupin, and they all went for help, presumably to headquarters."

Snape was silent for a moment as he processed Draco's tale. So Hermione's father was alive - that was an unexpected twist. That explained the Patronuses they'd received before the imposter's arrival - Lupin wanted them to come as soon as they could so they could see for themselves.

"Be that as it may, I expected you to have a firmer head on your shoulders, Mr. Black," Snape said sternly. "Charging into an unknown like a Gryffindor will do you no favors." Draco nodded, looking properly ashamed, and Snape strode to the open window, where he began muttering a series of spells, streams of barely discernible light flowing from his wand. Draco felt the wards shifting around him in a sort of caress as Snape worked, and he watched in fascination, not sure what the older man was doing but interested all the same. Finally, Snape lowered his wand, then shut and latched the window.

"It is done," he said. "I have removed the ward keeping part-humans out, and from now on, no one may enter the property without your express permission."

"Thank you, sir," Draco said sincerely. Snape moved away from the window and sat in one of the leather chairs in front of the desk. In doing so, he caught sight of the portrait - Narcissa looked scared, but not nearly as much as Draco recalled from when the duel had begun.

"Forgive my rudeness, Narcissa," Snape said. "It seems your son has developed a Gryffindor streak. I hope you are well."

"Well enough, Severus, thank you," she replied, running her slender fingers over the blossoms at her side. Snape nodded curtly and returned his attention to Draco.

"Explain," he said. Draco sucked a breath in through his teeth and nodded, knowing exactly what Snape meant by the command.

"I had been exploring the study when Narcissa cried out," he began. "I turned around..."

* * *

_Draco whirled around at Narcissa's shriek, slamming the safe shut as he simultaneously dropped to the floor – the action cost him precious seconds, but there was no way in hell anyone else was getting into that safe, especially not when he hadn't really looked through the rest of its contents. A hex hissed as it hit the wall exactly where Draco had just been standing, and he groaned internally as he caught sight of his assailant._

Of course, _he thought._ How could I have been so stupid? That window wasn't left open by accident...that bird wasn't just a bird...it should've clicked when I saw that it was a hunting bird...a falcon...

_"Mr. Black," the intruder said, a sneer contorting his hooked nose in a decidedly unattractive manner. "I vould say it vas a pleasure to see you, but I don't think that vould be appropriate."_

_"Krum," Draco spat. "What the hell are you doing in my house?" Krum smirked and twirled his wand in his fingers - Draco thought about attempting a Disarming charm, but the Bulgarian had lightning-fast reflexes and would most likely dodge one easily._

_"Vouldn't you like to know," Krum said. "Perhaps I vas feeding my pet Muggle."_

_"You bastard!" Draco snarled, bristling at the cruel mention of Hermione's father. "What did you do to him?"_

_"Nothing of concern. I vas not even involved in the original operation, but vhen I heard this Muggle belonged to the _lovely_ Miss Granger...vell, I could not say no."_

_"You disgust me," Draco said, his eyes narrowed to slits. "Bob Granger is a person, not property." Krum snorted._

_"He is a Muggle, nothing more. He is not important to this conversation - vhat is more important is vhat _you_ are doing here. Vhat did you find that vas so interesting?"_

_"Nothing of concern," Draco said, echoing Krum's earlier words. "I daresay nothing in this house is any concern of yours, actually."_

_"And that is vhere you are wrong, Mr. Black." Krum's eyes darkened, his expression dangerous. "You are of great concern to me - I know that you haff a Portkey in your possession, and you _vill_ tell me vhen it leaves and vhere it is taking you."_

_"Hmm...how about not?" Draco scoffed. "I've already sent a message to my friends - they'll be here any minute." Krum chuckled._

_"Nice try, Mr. Black, but you haff had no time to do something like that. You are alone, and you _vill_ give me vhat I vant."_

_Draco barely had time to think that Krum was one of those villains who liked to talk entirely too much when another hex came flying his way, this one jet black._

"Protego!"_ The hex collided with his shield and rebounded, Krum leaping out of the way as it crashed into the wall, burning a hole into the stone. The two began dueling fiercely, multicolored lights shooting back and forth. Krum had, of course, been chosen as a Triwizard champion, which required prodigious magical skill in its own right, and Draco had no doubt that the Bulgarian had had further training in the Dark Arts since then - it was all Draco could do to keep up. Finally, a Body-Bind Curse hit its mark, and Draco fell to the ground, unable to move. Krum sauntered over and crouched beside him, a victorious smirk on his face._

_"Now...vhere is the Portkey?" he asked quietly. Draco, of course, couldn't answer, but he glared at Krum as best he could._

_"Very vell - ve shall do this the hard vay, then."_

_Draco was then hit with a spell he didn't recognize, but he immediately knew what Krum was doing - he was searching his memories. Draco knew that shielding was a key element of Occlumency, but as he'd never formally practiced it before, he didn't know how, and it was all he could do to keep Krum from his thoughts of the Slytherin ring and other important, secret memories. Fortunately, Krum seemed unconcerned with learning anything other than the Portkey's location and retracted the spell as soon as he'd gotten what he was after. Unfortunately, however, Draco was still frozen, and therefore couldn't stop Krum from fishing around for the little token in his pocket._

_"Excellent," Krum said, pocketing the Portkey. He then grabbed a fistful of Draco's hair and yanked hard, ripping a few of the hairs away. Reaching into his robes, he removed a small vial - he added the hairs, and the sludgy potion within turned the color of liquid silver. Horrified, Draco watched as Krum swallowed the potion and began to change before him until he was staring at an exact double of himself. With a wave of his wand, Krum's robes morphed into duplicates of Draco's own Muggle clothing._

_"A pleasure, Mr. Black," Krum said, his voice now sounding just like Draco's. "But I cannot have you following me, so..."_

_A jet of light was the last thing Draco saw before he blacked out._

* * *

"Foolish boy," Snape repeated when Draco finished his tale, though the reprimand lacked the sharp undertone from before. "You're lucky you weren't badly injured, or even killed. I hope you've learned your lesson and will act more appropriately in the future."

"Yes, sir," Draco muttered, deliberately staring at the floor instead of the dark-haired man seated across from him. He'd been scolded by teachers before, of course – honestly, what student _didn't_ get into at least a spot of trouble now and then at Hogwarts? It was almost impossible – but Snape wasn't just a teacher; he was his godfather, and Draco felt like he'd disappointed him.

"It is time you returned to Hogwarts," Snape said. "The rest of your party is waiting for you there, and we've already received messages stressing the importance of your timely return to headquarters."

"Hermione's dad," Draco breathed.

"Yes. I'm sure you're quite eager to tell Miss Granger the whole riveting tale." Snape's tone suggested that he'd rather be done with the whole thing, thank you very much, and Draco didn't object when Snape rose to his feet and held out yet another Portkey.

"It was lovely to see you again, my dear," Narcissa said softly. "I know I'm not really her, but if there's anything I can do for you, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you," Draco replied sincerely. "I'm glad I got the chance to talk to you, and I'll come back as soon as I can." He touched a finger to the token and nodded to Snape, and the two vanished.

* * *

Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and Tonks had been discussing the various reasons why they were being called home so urgently when Draco and Snape arrived. Hermione raised her wand, and the others immediately backed off, curious to see what would happen if the security question played out as it should.

"Dragon, my soul was weak, forgive me." Hermione's voice wasn't perfect, but the tune was clear and sweet all the same. Draco, who'd thrown up his hands in the universal placating gesture when Hermione had drawn her wand, swallowed heavily, his mind immediately returning to that memorable night.

"Lotte, you're always forgiven."

There was no need for a confirming second question – that moment was theirs alone, and they immediately flew into each other's arms, Draco cradling Hermione's face in his hands as he kissed her passionately. It was only when Snape pointedly cleared his throat that they broke apart, their faces flushed, but they refused to let go of one another, instead resting their foreheads together and relishing in the feel of being together again.

"I missed you," Draco said softly, his thumbs lightly grazing Hermione's cheekbones.

"I missed you too," she replied. "Did you find…"

"The ring? I did." Draco let go of her face and withdrew his necklace, holding it up so Hermione could see the silver and green ring.

"Oh, this is wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed. "I was just going to ask if you'd found anything interesting – I never guessed you'd have found _that_ as well!"

"It was the counterpart to this," Draco said, gesturing to Narcissa's ring. "The gift from my paternal grandparents – it was Slytherin's ring, all this time."

"But that means we have all four of them!" Hermione said, turning to face the room at large. "Harry has the Gryffindor ring, and Ginny, Tonks and I found Ravenclaw's – we have them all!"

"Which reminds me," Harry said with a frown, "what are we supposed to do with them? Professor Dumbledore said he wanted us to leave them here at Hogwarts, but he's not even here to open the archives room for us."

"You are to leave them in that box on his desk," Snape drawled, pointing to the object in question. It was a beautifully carved wooden box – very similar, Harry thought, to the one in which he'd found the Gryffindor ring, except this one had a phoenix on the open lid. The Hufflepuff ring lay inside, the spaces beside it offering just the right amount of room for the other three.

"The box will only open for the headmaster, so be sure you've stored everything you need to before you close it," Snape explained. One by one, Harry, Draco, and Hermione each removed the founders' rings from their necklaces and nestled them carefully into the padded box with their fellows. The four rings looked innocent sitting on the purple lining, but the teenagers all knew they could only imagine the raw power they contained. With one last look at the rings, Harry gently closed the box, a series of soft clicks and sliding gears sounding as it sealed itself.

"Where is the imposter?" Snape asked, having noticed the instant they'd arrived that the unconscious 'Draco' was no longer there.

_"Krum,"_ Hermione spat, looking positively venomous, "is at the Ministry with Kingsley, hopefully staring at his one-way ticket to Azkaban."

"Lotte, calm down," Draco said soothingly, placing his hand on Hermione's arm.

"It's what he deserves," she insisted, though she relaxed a little at his touch.

"Headquarters," Snape said. He held out the final Portkey of the evening, and everyone groaned.

"You know perfectly well that Apparition is impossible within the castle grounds, and Dumbledore only opens the Floo in emergencies," Snape said impatiently. "Unless you want to call for the Knight Bus, this is your only option if you wish to return to London tonight." Harry grabbed for the Portkey as soon as Snape said the words 'Knight Bus' – he'd ridden the tumultuous vehicle in his second year and wished never to repeat the experience if possible – and Draco followed close behind, as he knew what was waiting for them at home. The girls soon followed suit, and a jerk to their midsections sent them hurtling towards Grimmauld Place.

"Took you long enough," Sirius quipped as he opened the door and let them in. "What happened?"

"Rescue mission," Harry replied with a grin. "What'd you need us home so quickly for?"

"Rescue mission?" Sirius questioned, raising his eyebrows.

"Later," Draco urged. "Where is he?"

"Where is who?" Hermione asked sharply. "What's going on?"

"St. Mungo's," Lupin replied, striding into the room. "He's going to be fine – we can Side-Along there."

"Who's in St. Mungo's?" Ginny repeated. "Professor-"

"Gin, we'll explain when we get there," Draco said quickly. "Please, can we just go?"

"Mr. Black, you will need to be checked as well," Snape said. "There is no telling what curse Krum actually used on you, and we need to be sure there are no lingering effects."

"Krum?" Sirius said sharply. "As in, Viktor Krum?"

"Afterwards," Draco insisted. "Please." He understood Snape's concerns, and he would gladly answer Sirius' questions later, but _nothing_ was going to keep him from this reunion. Snape's dark eyes narrowed, but he finally sighed in exasperation.

"So be it," he said. He then turned to Lupin. "I must return to Hogwarts."

"We can take it from here," Lupin assured him. Snape nodded curtly and left, his robes swirling behind him in their usual menacing fashion.

"Grab on, everyone," Sirius said. Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Draco each found someone to Side-Along with, and they were soon in the brightly lit lobby of St. Mungo's.

"This way," Lupin said, leading them right past the welcome desk to the lifts. "I've got the room number from when we brought him in."

"Brought _who_ in?" Hermione asked again, her patience wearing thin. "Who is-"

"Lotte, just give us a minute," Draco begged. "Let us show you." Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"What is going on?" she hissed, barely paying attention to where they were going. Moments later, they stopped outside one of the hospital's many nondescript doors, and Lupin knocked.

"Bob?" he called, opening the door. "You've got visitors." Hermione's eyes widened almost comically.

"Bob?" she whispered. "No…_no…_it can't be…"

"See for yourself," Draco said quietly, nudging her forward. Hermione trembled with every step, and she gasped and clapped her hands to her mouth when she finally saw who was in the bed.

"Hi, Hermione," Bob Granger said.

"Daddy…" Hermione moved forward as if in a trance, her eyes never leaving her father's form.

"It's ok, pumpkin – it's ok."

The familiar endearment did the trick – the dam broke, and Hermione began to cry, great, wracking sobs shaking her whole body as she sank into the chair by her father's bed. She reached for his hand and clasped it like a lifeline, squeezing it over and over as if to confirm that he was really there.

"You're alive – oh, thank God, you're _alive…"_

"Alive and kicking," Bob said, cracking a smile. "It'll take more than a few pesky wizards to take down your dear old dad." Hermione laughed through her tears.

"But…I don't understand. What happened? Where were you?"

"Well… the first is a bit of a story, which you might have to wait a bit to hear – I'd rather like to do it justice, if I may. As for your second question – it appears I was in Draco's ancestral home, for at least the last few days or so."

"You were in Malfoy Manor?" Hermione repeated, her eyes even wider than before. "But then…" She turned to Draco. "Were you the one who found him?"

"Yes," Draco said quietly. "He'd been imprisoned in the manor's basement – I had Dobby Apparate him out to Lupin, and then I presume they brought him here."

Draco almost immediately found himself choking on an excessive quantity of brown curls as Hermione threw herself into his arms, sobbing anew.

"You saved him," she whimpered. "Dragon…oh my God…"

"Shh," Draco soothed, running his hands up and down her back in an attempt to calm her. "Lotte, it's ok…shh, sweetheart, don't cry…"

"My dad…my dad's alive," Hermione choked out. "And you probably saved his life…" She sniffed loudly, sat up, and wiped her eyes on her sleeve, then pulled Draco to her and kissed him with everything she had. They were both breathless when they finally broke apart, much to the amusement of the room's other occupants. Bob Granger's eyes were twinkling, and Draco flushed, recalling his conversation with the older man in the manor basement.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered. "You have no idea how much this means to me – I love you so much." She brushed her lips against Draco's once more before settling against his chest with a contented sigh.

"I love you too, Lotte," Draco murmured as he stroked her hair. "Always."

* * *

**A/N: Oh, I do like this chapter - we know what happened to Draco (nobody caught on re: the bird), everyone's together again, Hermione knows about her dad, &amp; we had just a little bit of Dramione fluff. All around good combo, I think. ;)**

**I hope you all had a wonderful Mother's Day &amp; treated your moms well (or did/will if you're from a country that celebrates it on a different day)!**

**Thanks for all the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading! You guys are the best.**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	11. Scores and Staffing

The next week was an absolute whirlwind as everyone caught each other up to date on what had transpired during their trips. Bob Granger was cleared to leave St. Mungo's three days after he'd arrived – he confessed he was reluctant to leave, as watching the Healers doing magic fascinated him. Hermione merely rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "typical" under her breath as she escorted her father through the lobby, but she couldn't hold back the giggles that escaped when Bob stared confusedly at the abandoned storefront that served as the hospital's entrance. Draco honored Snape's request and had himself checked out as well – the spell Krum had used on him turned out to be an enhanced Stunner, nothing more, but the Healers gave him a potion to take just in case. Draco wrinkled his nose at the foul-tasting stuff but pocketed the vial without a word – once Hermione had calmed down about the situation with her father, she'd shouted at Draco for nearly half an hour for being, in her words, "a brainless moron".

It was decided for the time being that everyone would remain at Grimmauld Place – the Grangers' house had been meticulously repaired, but nobody wanted to take the chance that the Death Eaters might hear that Bob had survived and come back to finish him off. At any rate, Bob himself wasn't ready to return home, and nobody blamed him after he'd told them exactly what had happened the night Lily and Helen had died. Apparently, Bob had been feeling a bit under the weather and had left work early that day, and he'd been upstairs taking a nap when a crash from downstairs had woken him. At first, he'd thought that one of the women had just dropped something – a large plate, perhaps – but then he'd heard the arguing, and a series of words he didn't recognize:

_"I will _die_ before I give up my son!" Lily shouted. The Death Eater sneered, the expression cold and cruel on his angular features._

_"Foolish girl wants to play…so be it, then." A curse Lily didn't recognize came flying her way and she ducked, shoving Helen to the floor as she fired off a hex in retaliation. Spells of all sorts crashed into the cabinets, the walls, and the kitchen island as they dueled. A particularly nasty curse missed Lily's head by inches and burned a hole in the refrigerator door, and Helen screamed as one of the pots on the stove exploded, sending razor-sharp chunks of metal flying in all directions. Lily's attention automatically focused on Helen, hoping her friend hadn't been hit, and the intruder immediately jumped on the mistake._

"Petrificus Totalus!"

_There was nothing Lily could do – her wand clattered to the ground as her limbs snapped painfully together and she fell, unable to move as the Death Eater crossed to stand over her._

_"Stupid Mudblood bitch," he spat, stomping on her wand so that it snapped cleanly in two. "Scum like you don't belong in the Wizarding world." He sneered again. "I won't even tell you to say goodbye to your brat – the Dark Lord _will _find him, and he will pay. You'll see him again before you know it. _Avada Kedavra!" _The light in Lily's green eyes died instantly and her body slumped limply, the binding curse no longer necessary now that she was dead._

_"And _you,"_ the Death Eater snarled as he rounded on Helen, who'd backed herself into a corner with the largest kitchen knife she could reach. "Polluting our world with Mudblood filth, are you? You don't even deserve a cell in Azkaban – worthless Muggle. No matter – we can insure it doesn't happen again." He repeated the Killing Curse, and Helen's lifeless form fell to the floor, the knife clattering across the tiles as it bounced and skidded to a halt._

_"Helen? Is everything alright?" Bob stepped into the kitchen, wiping sleep from his eyes. He froze when he caught sight of the intruder, and he had to steady himself on the doorframe when he saw the bodies of his wife and friend._

_"Oh, everything's just _wonderful," _the Death Eater said, flashing Bob a predatory smile._

_"Who are you?" Bob demanded. "I'll call the police!"_

_"Foolish Muggle," the Death Eater practically crooned. "Your _police_ can't help you now. Oh, no – you are going to suffer, and I am going to enjoy every _second_ of it."_

Coaxing the rest of the tale from Bob was a bit difficult – he was reluctant to relay the events in all their gristly detail – but Kingsley insisted that the Order needed to know. Bob swallowed heavily, steadfastly avoiding his daughter's piercing gaze, and told them how the Death Eater had picked up the kitchen knife and immobilized Bob before dragging him into the sitting room, where he proceeded to torture him with both magical and Muggle means. Bob now had a series of scars crisscrossing his back – the Death Eater had healed his victim, obviously wanting him to suffer as long as possible, but he hadn't bothered to do a good job of it, and there was only so much the Healers could do. Bob had been barely conscious when the Death Eater had finished and Apparated them to an abandoned warehouse, where several other Death Eaters came to 'pay their respects' over the next few days. Someone eventually transferred him to Malfoy Manor – why, Bob couldn't say, as he'd been delirious with pain, but he thought he'd heard them say something about the irony of it all – and he hadn't seen anyone since. Apparently, they'd decided he was going to die in that cellar and had left him in favor of finding someone else to torture.

"What can you tell us about your attacker?" Kingsley asked, his deep voice calming to the room's horrified occupants.

"Not much, I'm afraid," Bob replied, scratching at a spot on his arm that hadn't yet healed. "Tall, medium build, dark hair and eyes – I didn't really get much of a look at him."

"Is there a way to extract a Muggle's memories for Pensieve viewing, Kingsley?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, actually – it is a bit difficult, but it can be done." Kingsley explained what Bob needed to do, and Bob nodded before closing his eyes and signaling that he was concentrating on his memory of that night in the kitchen. Kingsley soon had the proper memory safely ensconced in a vial, and he promised that he would send word as soon as he'd had time to view it.

Hermione just about exploded with rage when they found out the attacker's identity: Antonin Dolohov.

* * *

"Dumbledore thinks Mum might've properly sealed the protection bond," Harry remarked one morning as he, Draco, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny tucked in to steaming plates of pancakes. "You know, the one that she sort of put in place the night my dad died."

"I'd rather have Mum than the bond," Draco said glumly, and Harry quickly agreed. Hermione could only pat his arm consolingly in response, no doubt thinking of her own mother, while Ginny and Ron looked away uncomfortably, neither one knowing how to comfort their friends when they hadn't experienced such horrible loss for themselves. For a long moment, the only sound in the kitchen was the scraping of cutlery as they halfheartedly ate.

"Post is here," Mrs. Weasley said as she returned to the kitchen. "I think you lot might be interested in these." She handed a thick parchment envelope to each of the teenagers save Ginny, who frowned.

"How come I didn't get a letter?" she asked. "I am going back to Hogwarts, aren't I?"

"Those aren't Hogwarts letters, dear," Mrs. Weasley replied. At her words, Hermione went white, her gaze fixated on the elegant wax seal holding the envelope shut.

"Oh, no," she whimpered. "It's our O.W.L. results…" In all the recent chaos, they'd completely forgotten that their exam scores were due to arrive at any moment.

"Let's get it over with?" Ron suggested, his thumb already parting the crease in his envelope. Harry and Draco nodded, and after a count of three, they each ripped their envelopes open. Hermione already had her results out and was scanning them intently while chewing her fingernails.

"Well?" Ginny asked. "How'd you do?" Harry looked up from his parchment.

"Not bad, actually," he said with a grin, and he passed Ginny his results. He hadn't passed Divination, but he hadn't been expecting to – he'd never liked the subject and had made up almost everything in the practical exam – but he'd done very well otherwise: A's in Astronomy and History of Magic; E's in Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Herbology, Potions, and Transfiguration; and an O in Defense Against the Dark Arts! Thoughts of Dumbledore's Army and all they'd done against Umbridge made Harry especially proud of that last mark.

"Well done!" Ginny exclaimed, standing up on her toes to kiss Harry's cheek. "You're an N.E.W.T. student now!"

"I s'pose I am," Harry replied, still grinning. "How'd you lot do?"

They spent the next several minutes swapping results and congratulating each other. Draco had O's in Potions, Defense, and Charms, the last of which was his favorite class and one in which he'd always excelled. He was thrilled that he'd managed an E in Transfiguration, as that particular subject fascinated him but consistently gave him trouble, and he also had E's in Arithmancy, Herbology, and Astronomy. Finally, he had three A's – Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, and History of Magic. Ron had no O's but a healthy mix of E's and A's, as well as two P's in History of Magic and Divination, and Hermione had the best marks of the lot – O's in everything except Defense, in which she'd earned an E. Harry knew she was disappointed, but he wasn't surprised – Defense had always been Hermione's weak link, especially after the boggart incident in their third year.

"Well done, all of you!" Mrs. Weasley said, beaming as she hugged each of them in turn. "We might have to have a little celebration."

_"Mum,"_ Ron whined as his mother enveloped him in another hug, "cut it out!"

"Oh, enough of that, Ronnie dear," she scolded lightly. "Why don't you all finish your breakfasts and go find something to do? The Order's having a meeting this afternoon, and we can't have you all underfoot." Not wanting to get on Mrs. Weasley's bad side, they quickly complied, leaving their dishes in the sink and hurrying upstairs to find something to do. They found Sirius and Tonks in the tapestry room and excitedly shared their results – Sirius had them all tearing up when he remarked that Lily would have been extremely proud – and they then retreated to Hermione and Ginny's room, the boys' room being too messy for any sort of gathering.

"N.E.W.T. students," Ginny remarked as she flopped on her bed. "Wow. So which classes do you think you'll continue with, then?"

"Charms, Transfiguration, Defense, Potions, Herbology, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes," Hermione said at once.

"Seven courses?" Ron asked, his mouth agape. "Blimey, Hermione, are you planning to sleep this year?"

"Oh, shut up," Hermione retorted.

"She'll be fine," Draco said. "She managed all those Outstandings, after all, and that was with eleven subjects." He paused to look at his marks. "I think I'm going to be taking the same, minus Runes, unfortunately – my marks decided for me there." Draco had an equal interest in both Arithmancy and Ancient Runes but hadn't been able to decided at his career meeting which he'd rather take if it came down to it – he hadn't been sure he could handle both electives if he were to get the necessary E to continue with Transfiguration. Of course, he could have just dropped Transfiguration and solved the problem that way, but Draco didn't want to do that – in spite of its challenges, the subject interested him greatly, and Professor McGonagall was one of his favorite teachers, so he really wanted to stick with it if he could. Snape had advised he wait for his marks and go from there – as both classes expected an E or higher, he hadn't achieved the required minimum to continue with Runes, so Arithmancy it was.

"You can always have Hermione teach you Runes on the side," Harry pointed out. "Just because you only got an A on the exam doesn't mean you wouldn't be able to handle a lesson or two every so often." He stared at his own sheet, particularly the Potions mark. "I guess I'm not continuing with Potions – which is a bit disappointing, to be honest; McGonagall said it'd be a good class to have if I want to go the Auror route. I'll definitely take Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Defense though – I'm not sure about anything else."

"Of course you'll take Defense – you're top of our year," Draco said with a smirk. "The mere thought of the leader of Dumbledore's Army not taking Defense…" They all laughed at that.

"Ron?" Hermione asked. "What about you?"

"Oh…erm, guess I haven't thought about it much," Ron replied. "Probably the same as Harry, I s'pose."

They chatted about classes for a little while longer before settling into a games tournament for the afternoon, and that evening, Mrs. Weasley kept her promise and made all their favorites for dinner, during which everyone congratulated the teenagers on their achievements.

* * *

The rest of the summer passed quickly thanks to Harry's birthday celebrations, Order meetings, and preparations for school – this last task was unusually fun, as they got to visit Fred and George's new joke shop in Diagon Alley, which was doing extremely well and contained all sorts of interesting items. They ran into several of their classmates on that trip as well, and they had a grand time catching up over ice cream sundaes on the patio of Florean Fortescue's with Neville, Susan, and Eloise. Harry was extremely happy for Eloise when she revealed she'd started seeing Wayne Hopkins, a Hufflepuff in their year. Eloise was a sweet girl but extraordinarily shy, and while Harry didn't know Wayne all that well outside of Herbology lessons and D.A. meetings, he thought that the quiet, thoughtful boy was a perfect match for the curly-haired blonde. Eloise, in turn, insisted on buying a round of butterbeers in celebration when Harry revealed that he'd been made Gryffindor's newest Quidditch captain – Eloise didn't play, but she was a huge fan of the sport.

Before they knew it, September had arrived, and they were off to Kings Cross once more. For once, the sky was clear when they arrived in Hogsmeade that evening, and the friends chattered excitedly about the new term as the carriages took them up to Hogwarts. There was a teacher they didn't recognize at the top table, a short, exceptionally large man with an impressive mustache and robes embroidered with fine silver thread. He was chatting amiably with Professor Flitwick, his hands moving excitedly as he talked.

"Who's that?" Harry asked, gesturing towards the unknown man with his fork.

"Dunno," Ron said with a shrug. "New Defense teacher, probably. Too bad Lupin and Tonks couldn't continue, they were great."

"You know the Order needs them, Ron," Hermione said, though she too regretted their absence. They really had been fabulous instructors, but the Order couldn't afford to spare anyone, especially not their only connection to the werewolf community and one of their best Aurors.

Their speculation continued throughout the feast, and they were quite eager when Dumbledore finally stood to address the room. After the usual notices regarding banned objects and off-limits places, the headmaster said, "It is my pleasure to welcome back Professor Slughorn, who has kindly consented to return to his old post as Potions master."

Professor Slughorn stood and gave a jolly wave, but hardly anybody noticed, busy as they were staring at Dumbledore. _Potions?_ But that couldn't be right…unless…

"In light of this appointment, Professor Snape will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this term."

Conversation erupted throughout the room at this announcement, the Slytherins cheering for their Head of House while many others voiced their shock or displeasure. Harry could only think one thing, and he expressed his thoughts to Draco via charmed parchment as he prepared for bed later that night:

_Well that certainly makes things interesting, doesn't it?_

* * *

**A/N: Finally back to Hogwarts, yay!**

**Thank you for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading! You guys are the best.**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	12. Lucky

Breakfast the next morning was a bit more complicated than Harry was used to. In past years, Professor McGonagall had handed out their schedules and sent them on their merry way, but as they were now N.E.W.T. students, she had to meet with her charges individually to ensure they met the minimum requirements for their desired courses before they could go to class.

"I thought we discussed continuing with Potions in your career meeting, Potter," his Head of House remarked as she studied his course selections.

"I didn't get the required mark, Professor," Harry replied, flipping to the page that contained his O.W.L. scores. "I got an E in Potions, not an O."

"And while an O was required for admission to Professor Snape's N.E.W.T. class, Professor Slughorn is more than happy to accept students who achieved an E or higher, so long as they feel they are prepared to do the work," Professor McGonagall explained. "I suspect you won't be the only student in the class in such a situation, if you'd still like to continue?"

"I would, thanks," Harry said. "These four, then, plus Potions."

"Very well." Professor McGonagall tapped a blank schedule, which filled itself with Harry's chosen courses. "Professor Slughorn should be able to provide you with a textbook and ingredients to use until you can write home for your own. You've earned each of these high marks, Mr. Potter – you should be proud."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said sincerely, though inwardly he was both shocked and pleased. Professor McGonagall rarely gave mere compliments, never mind such high praise. The Scottish witch nodded once before turning to speak with Neville, who sat to Harry's left. Hermione had already left for a first period Ancient Runes class, and Harry had a free period first thing that morning, so he decided to heed Professor McGonagall's advice and get in touch with Sirius. Knowing the library would probably be empty since no one had any homework yet, he headed there and situated himself at Hermione's usual table. He soon had his charmed parchment and quill ready, and he thought for a moment before scribbling his message:

_Do you know anyone called Professor Slughorn?_

_Sure, he was Potions master when I was at Hogwarts,_ came the reply. _Why do you ask?_

_Dumbledore's brought him back to teach again, and Snape's teaching Defense,_ Harry wrote back. _What can you tell me about him?_

_Snape's teaching Defense?_

_Yes, I just said that. But never mind that – Slughorn?_

_Right, sorry. You know Snape and I don't exactly get along._

Harry snorted. That was the biggest understatement he'd heard in a long time.

_Slughorn. He's not a bad teacher – certainly knows his stuff – but you'll have to watch out for him. He'll definitely take an interest in you, I'm sure._

_Why?_

_Slughorn's a bit of a…social climber, shall we say? He likes to collect trophies – important people. Great if you need connections – I hear he corresponds regularly with Gwenog Jones, for instance – but it can get annoying right quick._

Harry frowned, then wrote, _How exactly does he 'collect' these people?_

_Oh, mostly through parties and the like – he likes to talk about how he got certain people the connections they needed to jumpstart their careers, that sort of thing. Just be warned, he'll recognize your name since he taught all of us, and your mum was quite talented with Potions – I don't know if he knows what happened or not, but I seem to remember he was never the most tactful person._

Harry groaned and ran a hand through his hair. Great – now he could expect a reminder of his recently deceased mum later that very afternoon. At least he was prepared.

_Sounds like loads of fun. I've got to go soon, break's almost over, but can you owl me a copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ and a stock of ingredients ASAP? You know I wasn't expecting to continue with Potions, so I don't have what I need. I think I have my scales here, but you might want to check around just in case I left those behind too._

_Not a problem – I'll see if I can get over to Diagon Alley today._

_Thanks – say hi to everyone for me._

Harry carefully put away his charmed parchment and checked the clock – almost morning break. They had Defense after that, and then double Potions after lunch. What he really wanted was to discuss the rings with Dumbledore, as they hadn't had a chance to do so over the summer, but Dumbledore had been busy with Order work and hadn't been in touch. Harry spent the remainder of first period scanning the _Daily Prophet_ – other than the transcript of a press conference from Rufus Scrimgeour, the new Minister of Magic after Cornelius Fudge had been sacked due to the whole Umbridge fiasco, the paper didn't contain anything of interest, and he soon tossed it aside. The bell rang shortly thereafter, signaling the start of morning break, and Harry headed down to the courtyard to meet up with his friends.

"Well, this year should be interesting," Draco commented as he sank to the grass next to Hermione.

"How so?" Harry asked. "Have you even had class yet?"

"I'm not talking academically," Draco replied. "I'm talking in Slytherin specifically. Crabbe and Goyle both failed their O.W.L.s, so they're repeating fifth year. That means they're not in our dormitory anymore – which is fine by me, since Crabbe snores worse than a giant – but it also means that there are just three of us left…"

"Yourself, Blaise, and Nott," Hermione finished. "Oh, that's a bit awkward." Draco and Blaise, of course, had been fairly good friends since first year, but Theodore Nott had been a thorn in their sides for just as long, preaching pureblood supremacy and sneering at those he thought 'beneath' him.

"Yeah…Nott didn't say much last night, but then, he hardly ever talks to either of us, 'blood traitors' that we are," Draco said with a snort. "I'll just keep doing what I've been doing for the last five years – ignoring him."

"Just be careful," Harry warned. "You never know what Nott might be up to."

"Harry, I've handled him for five years – I think I can survive another two."

* * *

Defense with Snape proved to be an eye opener – the dark-haired Head of Slytherin spent the first twenty minutes lecturing them on the sheer difficulty of battling the Dark Arts due to their unpredictability, then wasted no time in putting them to work. He had them pair up and gave them a seemingly simple exercise – one partner was to jinx, and the other partner was to block. The simplicity disappeared when he demanded that they do the task nonverbally, a detail they hadn't had much practice with and which proved exceedingly difficult. Only Hermione managed to cast a completely nonverbal shield, and even that didn't happen until there were only five minutes left in the lesson. Snape set them a lengthy essay for homework and told them to practice their nonverbal magic, and they hurried from the classroom with sighs of relief.

After lunch, Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way downstairs to the dungeons for their first Potions lesson with Slughorn. A handful of students were already waiting, but it seemed like their N.E.W.T. class was going to be quite small. And indeed, by the time the classroom door opened and they filed inside, scarcely more than a dozen students had assembled. Harry took stock of his new classmates as they found seats – Ron, Hermione, Draco, Tracey, Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott, Michael Corner, Terry Boot, Padma Patil, Lisa Turpin, Anthony Goldstein, Mandy Brocklehurst, Ernie Macmillan, Susan Bones, and Eloise Midgen. Sixteen total, including himself, and almost all of them were in Dumbledore's Army. Perhaps this class wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Good afternoon!" Slughorn greeted them jovially as he came out from behind his desk. He wore detailed robes made of enough deep purple velvet to craft a small tent, and he beamed as he surveyed his newest class. "Welcome to N.E.W.T. Potions! Materials out, please, you'll be getting to work in just a moment, you know!"

"Excuse me, Professor?" Susan Bones had her hand in the air.

"Yes?"

"Well, Professor Sprout said I might be able to borrow a textbook for the day – I didn't know I could continue with Potions until this morning, you see."

"Ah, yes, of course! The Heads of House did mention that several of you might be in that situation. How many are in need of supplies?" In addition to Susan, Harry, Ron, and Anthony raised their hands. "Not to worry – plenty for all to share until you can owl home."

"Pathetic," Nott muttered, just loud enough that Susan heard him. "If you can't manage the proper marks, you shouldn't be here."

"Say that again to my face, I dare you," Susan snapped, her wand pointed at Nott's nose. Nott scowled.

"Well then!" Slughorn said, his eyes wide. "No need for that, so if you'll just put your wand away, Miss…"

"Bones," Susan said shortly, though she didn't take her eyes off Nott, "Susan Bones."

"Oho!" Slughorn's tone was decidedly more excited now. "Are you perhaps related to Madam Amelia Bones, of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"She's my aunt, yes," Susan said, though she didn't elaborate further. She did, however, finally give in to Eloise's tugging of her arm and sit down.

"Wonderful, wonderful! An extraordinary witch, she is. Now, let's find out who the rest of you are, shall we?"

The rest of the introductions played out just as Sirius had suggested they would. Slughorn inquired after several people's relatives, and he seemed a bit disappointed that Hermione was not, in fact, related to famous potioneer Hector Dagworth-Granger. He passed on genial greetings to Ron's father, and he paused curiously as he really looked at Draco for the first time.

"Surely you're not…you look so much like…but your surname is Black?" he asked, clearly confused.

"Yes, I am Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy's son, though I much prefer my adopted family over my birth one, Professor," Draco said somewhat coolly.

"Interesting," Slughorn murmured, nobody quite sure what he meant. Then he turned to Harry.

"Well, there's no doubt who _you_ are, m'boy!" he exclaimed. "Spitting image of your father at that age, although you've got your mother's eyes – _brilliant_ with Potions, she was, Lily! So terribly sorry to hear what happened…" Harry wasn't entirely sure that Slughorn really was sorry at all, as the condolence had been added as a bit of an afterthought; judging by the calculating look on Hermione's face, she was having similar thoughts and didn't like it one bit. Harry almost laughed – Hermione was fiercely protective of both himself and Draco, and Slughorn had just made less-than-complimentary statements towards them both. He was very curious to see what she'd do next.

Slughorn finished up the roll call, then gestured towards a series of cauldrons on the tables, each one filled with a gently bubbling potion.

"I've brewed a sampling of potions you will be expected to know as N.E.W.T. students," Slughorn said. "We won't be making any of these today, but keep in mind that any of them are fair game from now on. Now, who can tell me what this is?" He pointed to the first cauldron, which housed what looked like water.

"Veritaserum, the strongest truth potion there is," Hermione said immediately, though she kept her expression impassive as opposed to her usual eagerness.

"Very good! And this?" The liquid in the second cauldron was thick and sludgy.

"Polyjuice Potion," Hermione replied smoothly. Slughorn grinned in satisfaction.

"Excellent, Miss Granger. I don't suppose you know what this one is as well?" The third cauldron smelled heavenly, Harry thought, and had thick spirals of steam rising from the surface.

"Amortentia," Hermione said. "It's the most powerful love potion in the world, and it smells differently for everyone, depending on what they're attracted to."

"And what does it smell like to you, Miss Granger?" Slughorn asked. Hermione fought back the urge to roll her eyes and smiled sweetly instead. She knew exactly what the Amortentia smelled like, and she knew exactly how to describe it.

"It smells like family, friendship, and home," she said. Slughorn looked confused, but Hermione refused to elaborate any further. Out of sight, Draco squeezed her hand under the table in satisfaction.

"Well, then…twenty points to Gryffindor," Slughorn said finally. "Well done. Take out your books and turn to page ten, please…"

"Professor?" Ron asked. "What's that one?" He pointed to the cauldron on Slughorn's desk, which contained a potion of pure gold. The liquid skipped merrily all about the surface, yet nary a drop spilled.

"Oho!" Slughorn said once more. "This…this is the prize for today's lesson! Felix Felicis!"

"Liquid luck!" Hermione gasped, unable to contain herself this time. "But that's extremely tricky to get right!"

"Right you are, Miss Granger – take another ten points. Devilishly tricky little potion, but when made right, the effects are absolutely wonderful." Slughorn paused for a moment and closed his eyes, his blissful expression suggesting that he was remembering personal experiences with the golden potion. "Now, you're to each attempt the potion on page ten – the Draught of Living Death. Whoever has the best potion at the end of the class period wins a vial of Felix Felicis. Off you go!" The class immediately scrambled to find the correct page and gather their ingredients.

"That was a positively Slytherin response, Lotte," Draco murmured as he set his scales, unable to keep the smirk off his face.

"Well, I wasn't about to tell him what I actually smelled, not after what he said about you two," Hermione said with a slight huff. She chose a knife from her potions kit and began chopping her valerian roots. Draco chuckled at his girlfriend's indignation.

"And what _did_ it smell like?" he asked.

"None of your business," Hermione replied, though she relaxed and smiled a little. "Now be quiet, you're distracting me. _Ugh,_ Harry, do you want to share my book for today? That one's disgusting!" Harry had just returned from the store cupboard and was gingerly holding an old copy of _Advanced Potion-Making, _the pages covered in an unidentifiable substance that was a most unpleasant shade of green.

"I think I'll be alright – page ten is clean, anyway," Harry replied as he began chopping roots as well. "I contacted Padfoot this morning, so I should have my own book soon."

The talking ceased then, and the rest of the period was quiet as they worked. The Draught of Living Death was far more difficult than anything they'd attempted before, and the ideal stages that the book described eluded them all. At the end of the period, Slughorn examined each potion carefully and eventually declared Hermione the winner, though even hers was deep purple instead of the desired lilac. Hermione accepted the vial with thanks and carefully tucked it inside her bag before following her friends from the room. Once they'd left the dungeons, though, she let loose.

"I cannot _believe_ his nerve," she hissed. "Talking so flippantly about your mother that way...and you! The way he looked at you, Dragon, when he found out who your parents were – it's disgusting!"

"Maya, calm down," Harry soothed. "Padfoot told me this morning that Slughorn would be like that – he said he likes to 'collect trophies' and that he'd probably say something about us."

"Just because Padfoot told you it would happen doesn't make it right," Hermione insisted. Draco took her hand and interlaced their fingers, squeezing gently.

"Lotte, I wouldn't worry about it," he said. "He's obviously going to do it whether we want him to or not, and I'm not all that fussed about it, to be honest. Focus your energy on blowing his mind with your brilliance, and then maybe he'll think twice about his comments."

"Fine," Hermione huffed, brushing an errant curl out of her face with her free hand. "I won't worry about it. But that doesn't mean I have to like it." The boys laughed.

"You wouldn't be Hermione if you did," Harry said. "Come on, let's go get some dinner."

* * *

That night, the sixth-year Gryffindor girls were readying themselves for bed, idly chatting about their days as they did so.

"How was Potions?" Parvati asked as she ran a brush through her hair. "Padma said that the new professor is very different from Snape."

"He is," Hermione said. "He's a bit full of himself, if you ask me, and quick to judge. He did show us some interesting potions, though – Veritaserum, Felix Felicis, Amortentia."

"Amortentia?" Lavender repeated, looking interested. "Oooh, that sounds like fun."

"Well, we certainly didn't make it," Hermione said with a slight frown. "It's very tricky…"

"Never mind that," Lavender said dismissively. "Tell us about it! Amortentia – the world's most powerful love potion. What did it smell like? I'll bet it was something…delicious." She licked her lips suggestively.

"Hermione doesn't have to tell you if she doesn't want to, Lavender," Eloise said.

"Oh, it's just a bit of fun!" Lavender insisted. "Honestly, I don't understand why you insist on gallivanting around with Slytherins, but even I have to admit that-"

"Lav, I would highly recommend not finishing that sentence," Parvati cut in, but if the dark look on Hermione's face was anything to go by, her intervention came too late. Parvati remembered all too well Lavender's rather rude comments about Draco after the boggart lesson back in their third year – and Hermione hadn't even heard those, nor had she been dating Draco at the time. Clearly, Lavender hadn't learned that messing with Hermione Granger was a terrible idea.

"That is exactly your problem, _Lavender,"_ Hermione hissed. "You still think of him – of _them_ – as Slytherins instead of people, and you judge them all based on the qualities of a select few. You have _no_ right to say _anything_ like that about Draco, because you don't know him, _at all._ My relationship with him is, quite frankly, none of your business, but I'll tell you right now that it means far more than any 'gallivanting' that you've ever done, and I'll thank you to stop acting like it does!"

The room was silent for several long moments following Hermione's tirade, the only sounds Crookshanks' contented purrs as he kneaded Hermione's blankets and decidedly ignored the goings-on around him.

"You really care about him, don't you?" Parvati finally said quietly. Hermione nodded curtly.

"I do – and nothing any of you can say will change that. He's far more than a Slytherin, far more than anything you could say about his name or his background or his looks – he's Draco, the boy I've known since I was seven, and that's more than enough for me." Hermione flopped back onto her pillows and picked up a book, clearly signaling that the discussion was over. Lavender grumbled something unintelligible and turned her back to the rest of the room, and Parvati and Eloise finished getting into bed in uncomfortable silence. Just as she had in third year, Parvati felt compelled to say something, but she didn't know what _to_ say. Finally, she decided to settle for something simple:

"If only we could all have such love – you're a lucky girl, Hermione Granger." In spite of herself, Hermione smiled.

"Thanks, Parvati. I'd say so too." She closed her book, not really wanting to do any more reading, and extinguished her light, plunging the room into darkness as she settled down to sleep.

* * *

**A/N: I've been sick, I've been bored...so you get chapter 12 a few days early. Woohoo! Plus Hermione's sassy side was begging to get out, &amp; I hate leaving you all with boring filler chapters for too long, haha.**

**Thanks for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading!**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	13. Memories

The rest of the week proved just as difficult as that first day – not only were the lessons themselves harder than ever, but Snape wasn't the only professor expecting his N.E.W.T. students to use nonverbal spells, and said students found themselves reverting to first-year material in an attempt to grasp the basic technique. Harry, Hermione, Draco, and Ginny were currently holed up in their study room version of the Room of Requirement, and Harry was attempting to make a spare bit of parchment fly wordlessly – he thought perhaps starting with the normal incantation and repeating it in a progressively softer tone might work, and he was almost down to a whisper.

_"Wingardium-"_

"Harry, I swear to Merlin, if you say _Wingardium Leviosa_ one more time," Hermione muttered from where she was bent over her Potions text. Beside her, Draco was deeply immersed in his Transfiguration essay, whispering to himself as he checked his information against the notes they'd taken in class the day before.

"Hermione," Harry whined as his parchment fluttered to the tabletop and lay still, "I was doing so well!"

"I could _hear_ the incantation, Harry," Hermione said exasperatedly.

"I was getting quieter!" Harry protested.

"Oh, shut up, you two," Ginny cut in. "Herms, cut the boy some slack – at least he was trying. Harry, yes, you were trying, love, but I think it might be time to find a new technique."

"Ginny Weasley, peacemaker extraordinaire, ladies and gentlemen," Draco drawled. In response, Ginny balled up a piece of parchment and threw it at his head. He caught it easily and smirked. "Did you forget I'm a Chaser, Gin? You'll have to try better than that if you want to hit me."

"Hmm…shall I take you up on that?" Ginny replied, raising her eyebrows playfully and drawing her wand.

"No thanks, I'm good," Draco said with a wink. Many people underestimated Ginny because of her size, but Draco knew better – the petite redhead's impressive wand skills had only grown thanks to the D.A. meetings, and her signature Bat-Bogey Hex was downright terrifying.

"Honestly," Hermione said, though she smiled a little.

"Speaking of Quidditch – when are your trials, Captain?" Draco asked Harry, putting a deliberate teasing emphasis on the final word.

"Saturday morning," Harry said with a groan. "Tons of people have already signed up."

"But that's good, isn't it?" Hermione asked.

"Good in the sense that we've lost half our team, yeah – but honestly, how many of those who signed up can actually play Quidditch? How many do you think signed up just because I'm the captain?"

"You won't know until Saturday, unfortunately," Ginny said with a shrug. "Let's just hope we've got some good Beater hopefuls, yeah? Replacing Fred and George is going to be tough."

"What about you, Drake?" Harry asked. "When are Slytherin's trials? And who's your new captain, anyway – isn't Montague gone?"

"Yeah, and so is Warrington – Gryffindor isn't the only team who needs new Chasers," Draco said. "Higgs has left as well, so we also need a new Seeker. The only people left besides myself are Crabbe, Goyle, and Miles Bletchley, our Keeper – he's our new captain, and our trials are on Monday after dinner."

"Isn't Bletchley in my year?" Ginny asked. Draco shrugged.

"Just because I'm in the highest year doesn't mean I automatically get the badge," he said. "I remember talking about this last year with you, Harry – they don't like to give two authority positions to the same person if they can help it, since there's so much extra responsibility involved with each, and I'm already a prefect. Crabbe and Goyle were knocked out of the running when they failed fifth year – not that I'd want either of them for a captain in the first place anyway. Besides, Miles has been on the team for a few years now – good Keeper, knows what he's doing – and he's an alright bloke; I think he's a good choice."

"I thought Adrian played for Slytherin as well?" Hermione questioned.

"Reserves, but he's out of school now too," Draco replied.

"Oh – how's Daphne doing, then?" Daphne Greengrass was a Slytherin student in their year – she'd been seeing Adrian Pucey since at least the beginning of her fourth year, and they'd both joined the D.A. after a Death Eater attack on the Hogwarts Express severely injured Daphne's younger sister Astoria. In spite of having the D.A. in common, the Gryffindors still didn't know the other girl all that well, as she was rather quiet and reserved. Draco winced.

"She's…ok," he said slowly, though he sounded like he didn't believe it. "I don't think she really has too many friends here, to be honest – she was always hanging around with Adrian and his mates, and obviously they're all gone. She and Tracey are friendly enough, but I'd hardly say they're best girlfriends or anything, and obviously no one wants to be around Parkinson or Bulstrode."

"Are we going to continue with the D.A.?" Ginny suggested. "Maybe that might help her a bit."

"I think we should," Hermione said. "The whole point of the group was to prepare ourselves against the Death Eaters and Voldemort, and that threat is still very much alive." They were quiet for a moment as they thought of the latest attack, a five-family slaughter reported in the _Prophet_ only just that morning. "It'll be hard with our workloads, but if we can make it work, we should."

"I'll see if I can gauge who's interested," Harry promised. "At the very least, I'd like to get back into training again."

"Me too," Ginny agreed, her hand going to the hilt at her waist where she kept her new knife. "I need some more practice with this." She removed the blade from its sheath and held it up so that the metal gleamed in the firelight.

"We don't need the D.A. to practice with our knives," Draco said, reaching for his own. "Anyone up for a break?" Harry readily agreed, and though Hermione was a little reluctant to leave her lengthy Runes translation for later, she eventually gave in and stepped aside to allow the room to shift into their familiar training ground.

"You girls start, and we'll go from there?" Harry asked. As Ginny hadn't had her knife long, they never jumped immediately into free-for-all fights, instead letting Ginny first battle one-on-one with Hermione, who was closest in size. Harry would then join in, sometimes on Hermione's side, sometimes on Ginny's, and Draco, who was the most skilled of the four and could knock aside a dangerous blade almost instantly with a casual flick of his wrist, policed the encounters and was available to jump in if something went wrong.

"Sounds good," Hermione agreed, her knife in one hand and her wand in the other. "But only for half an hour…"

"We know, Lotte, we know," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "Now let's practice!"

* * *

On Saturday morning after breakfast, Draco returned to his dorm in the dungeons, looking forward to some uninterrupted time to work on his homework. Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were on their way to the Quidditch pitch for the Gryffindor trials, and Blaise was doing some observation for a Care of Magical Creatures project until lunchtime, and Draco knew that wasting the time would be a very foolish thing indeed. He started with his Potions essay, which was already half done, and had finished that and moved on to Charms when the dormitory door opened.

"Just the person I was looking to talk to."

Draco's head whipped up in shock, but he kept his expression carefully neutral as he took in the sight of Theodore Nott standing in the doorframe.

"Excuse me?" he said.

"I wanted to talk to you, Black," Nott repeated. Draco refrained from raising his eyebrows – he wasn't positive, but he was pretty sure that was the first time Nott had ever called him 'Black' instead of 'Malfoy'.

"What did you want to talk about?" Draco questioned. "Not to be rude, but I'm a bit busy for a chat…"

"I wanted to ask if you'd help me with the Charms homework, actually," Nott said smoothly, striding across the room and taking a seat on his trunk as if he'd merely commented on the weather. Draco couldn't help it – his eyes widened.

"You want me to help you with the Charms homework?" he repeated. "Are you daft?"

"Not in the slightest," Nott replied. "I'm finding myself a bit…at odds with the material, as it were, and I know for a fact you're the best in our year at Charms."

"No, that's Hermione," Draco said, frowning slightly. "It's my best subject, yeah, but she's still the best in our year."

"Like Granger would willingly speak to me," Nott said dismissively.

"And I would?" Draco replied with a snort.

"You're speaking to me now, aren't you? Besides, Granger's not in my Charms class, nor is she in my house – you, however, are both of those things." Nott did have a point. Even if Hermione would deign to speak with him – which, given how terribly he'd treated her in the past, was highly unlikely – they weren't in the same class. There were enough people taking N.E.W.T. Charms to necessitate two sections of the class – Draco and Nott were in the same section, along with Harry, but Hermione was in the other, and even though the two classes were covering the same material, it was always best to find study partners from your own sections, just in case.

"What's your endgame, Nott?" Draco asked. His housemates often did things with ulterior motives in mind, and Nott definitely fell into that category.

"Just a better mark in Charms," Nott said, feigning hurt. "Although I suppose I could always help you revise for Transfiguration in return – I'm not your precious Granger, but I did still get an O on that exam."

"Keep your comments about my friends to yourself, or I shan't help you," Draco insisted. Nott shrugged.

"Fine. I won't say anything about your friends."

Draco was still suspicious – Nott hardly ever said a kind word to anyone, and he'd made Draco's life difficult from the moment they arrived at Hogwarts – but what if he really _did_ just need some tutoring? Draco would look like a right arse if he rejected a housemate in need of something he could so easily give – after all, as convoluted as their ways could be, as tense as their relationships were, Slytherins looked out for their own, didn't they?

"Alright," he conceded. "I'll give you a two-week trial, and we'll go from there. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough," Nott agreed, already taking out his Charms textbook.

"Right, then – I suppose we should start with _Aguamenti,_ since we went over that in class yesterday…"

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Harry and his friends were kept busy with homework, Quidditch, prefect rounds, and training sessions, and September quickly melted into October. Classes remained difficult, and they had very little free time, but they did manage to get in a D.A. meeting during the last week of September – the group was quite a bit smaller, as several former members had finished school and a handful of others had decided not to continue, but those who returned were more than happy to put aside their schoolwork for an hour or so to practice their dueling. They used the last ten minutes to practice their Patronuses, the silvery animals chasing each other around the Room of Requirement as their casters looked on in obvious delight, and everyone was feeling very satisfied when they called it quits for the evening.

On the first Monday in October, Harry, Draco, and Hermione each received a summons to Professor Snape's office for eight o'clock that evening.

"What d'you think Snape wants with us?" Harry wondered as the trio made their way down into the dungeons. Neither Gryffindor nor Slytherin had Quidditch practice that evening, so they hadn't had to do any last minute rescheduling, but the notes hadn't given any hints as to Snape's intentions.

"No idea," Draco replied, hefting his bag up a little higher onto his shoulder. "Hope it doesn't take long, though – I still have to finish that Herbology assignment." He reached the door first and rapped smartly on the wood with his knuckles, then pushed it open when Snape bade them enter.

"Well, you're on time, at least," Snape said. "Sit." He pointed to three plain wooden chairs in front of his desk, which the trio took with some reluctance. The chairs were as uncomfortable as they looked.

"The headmaster wishes for you three to begin studying Occlumency," Snape said before any of them could ask why they were there. "What do you know of it, if anything?"

"It's a way to block your mind so others can't read it," Hermione said.

"A rudimentary definition lacking several important points," Snape replied. "'Reading minds' might be the term some use to define those who can practice Legilimency, but that is a dangerous misconception – the mind is a layered, complex thing, and as such, both Occlumency and Legilimency are similarly complicated. A skilled Occlumens can successfully hide their thoughts, as if behind a wall or in a vault, but it takes immense concentration and willpower, and it cannot be done if you cannot first control your emotions. Emotions, however powerful they might be, are a weakness that any good Legilimens knows to prey upon – wear your heart on your sleeve, and your secrets won't stay secret for long. The task only becomes more difficult if you are under pressure – at the other end of an adversary's wand, perhaps, or weakened in any way, physically or mentally."

The teenagers looked at one another, slightly chagrined. Occlumency sounded both difficult and worrisome.

"Why does Dumbledore want us to learn this, Professor?" Draco asked.

"It goes without saying that you three are prime targets in the war against the Dark Lord," Snape said. "I don't think I need explain why; you should all know that by now. If any of you were to be taken, you can guarantee that the Dark Lord would be _very _interested in what you know – and he is not so kind as to ask you for it. Your competence with wands is acceptable enough, but you must be able to defend your minds, which are both far more valuable and far more vulnerable."

"But why are we here, specifically?" Hermione pressed.

"Because I am to be your teacher," Snape drawled. "Do keep up, Miss Granger. The headmaster and I are the only learned Legilimens at Hogwarts – it is arguably more difficult even than Occlumency to learn, and far more so to master – and the headmaster is far too busy with other matters to teach you himself. I believe he has other intentions with you three, but he would not divulge what, exactly, and as they do not apply to this lesson, I see no further reason to discuss them at this time.

"Eye contact is crucial to Legilimency, and as such, I shall face only one of you at a time. You may attempt to block me however you see fit, but be warned – the more energy you focus on physical spells, the harder it becomes to defend your mind. Now, which one of you is going first?"

The teenagers looked at one another, having a silent conversation with their eyes, before Hermione finally stood up and said, "I'll go." Snape nodded curtly.

"Stand in the center of the room. You two – off to the sides, and no interfering. As much as you will want to, this is a battle you must learn to fight on your own." With that ominous instruction, Harry and Draco dragged their chairs over against the far wall, where they could properly watch both Hermione and Snape.

"On three," Snape said. "One…two…three…_Legilimens!"_

At first, it didn't look like much was happening, but the boys soon saw Hermione's brow furrow in concentration, a small whimper escaping her lips as she tried to fight off Snape's attack. They obviously couldn't see whatever memories she was trying to repress, but the whole situation looked decidedly uncomfortable. After a few minutes, Hermione managed a cry of _"Protego!"_ The shield was strong enough that it broke Snape's concentration, and Hermione collapsed to her knees, sweat pouring down her face.

"Acceptable for a first attempt, but you let me see too much before you managed a block," Snape said. "I had no idea your first bout of accidental magic was so…powerful." He smirked a little as Hermione flushed – the incident in question had nearly burned down her old house.

"Potter." Snape jerked his head towards the spot where Hermione had recently stood, the curly-haired Gryffindor having taken a seat next to Draco. Harry took his place and raised his wand, bracing himself.

_"Legilimens!"_ Snape shouted.

Harry was not nearly as successful – Hermione and Draco could both see that Snape broke through very quickly, and Harry looked as though he were in pain. Try as he might, he couldn't fight off the attack, and Snape only retreated when Harry accidentally sent a Stinging Hex his way.

"Your first assignment is learning to clear your head, Potter," Snape said. "Practice every evening before bed – I will know if you haven't at our next session." Harry nodded shakily, his face just as sweaty as Hermione's, and stumbled to his empty seat as Draco took his place. For a moment, Snape looked almost hesitant, but he quickly hid the expression behind a mask of indifference and chanted the spell once more.

Harry and Hermione knew right away that this battle was different – not thirty seconds had passed before Draco shouted, "NO!" his expression defiant and determined. If either looked uncomfortable now, it was Snape, who seemed to be struggling with something, and it was a full two minutes before he wrenched his wand away and broke the spell, Draco staggering backwards with a look of shock on his pale features.

"So that's what happened," he whispered, so quietly that Harry and Hermione almost didn't hear him.

"How what happened?" Harry asked.

_"Don't,"_ Snape spat, then again, almost pleading, "Don't."

"That was private," Draco said.

"So was mine," Snape replied. "But now you know."

"It wasn't my intention to reverse the spell," Draco said quietly. "I'm sorry."

The two Gryffindors looked at each other in disbelief. Draco had not only fought off Snape's attack, but had actually reversed it? And what exactly had he seen that had Snape so distraught?

"Don't be," Snape said vehemently. "It was my mistake, and it is my burden and mine alone. You did what you were supposed to do."

"But-"

"Draco, be _quiet,"_ Snape hissed. He sighed and pressed his long fingers to his temples, then looked back at his godson.

"Don't make the same mistake I did," he said, his gaze flickering so briefly to Hermione that only Draco caught it.

"Never," Draco vowed. Snape must have seen the fierce determination and truth in the younger Slytherin's eyes, because he merely nodded in acceptance and motioned toward the door.

"I will let you know of the next meeting time," was all he said before he all but pushed the trio out the door.

"Er…what exactly just happened?" Harry asked, nonplussed.

"Not here," Draco muttered, hurrying along the corridor to the nearest empty classroom. Once he was satisfied that it was indeed empty, he ushered them inside and shut the door firmly, then began pacing, his shoes kicking up little clouds of dust as he walked back and forth.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, reaching out to place her hand on his arm. Draco stopped pacing and looked at her.

"He went straight for my memory of the garden," he said. Hermione's mouth formed a small 'o' of understanding.

"Our security question," she said.

"Yes. But that belongs to us, and only us – even if it was just an exercise, I wasn't going to give him that. So I forced him out – hard enough that I reversed the spell and saw one of his own memories, one that I don't think he ever intended anyone else to see. I think I only saw what I did because he was too shocked that I'd actually reversed the spell to begin with."

"What did you see?" Harry asked. Draco looked up, his expression upset.

"The ending of his friendship with Mum," he said. "I saw the day he…the day he called her a Mudblood."

* * *

**A/N: Ouch...that memory had to come back at some point, didn't it? What'd you think? Also, we're getting very close to the reveal of the Gryffindor/Slytherin ring clue, so if you have any last-minute guesses, now's the time to get them in!**

**Thank you, as always, for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading! You guys are the best!**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. In case I don't update again before then, I'd like to wish you all a happy Memorial Day weekend. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	14. A Serious Security Issue

Occlumency lessons were more than a bit strained after that. Snape kept his word to Dumbledore and continued to teach the trio all he knew about the art, but that didn't mean he wasn't extremely tense every time he trained his wand on one of them, especially Draco. For his part, Draco never again mentioned the incident after that first night, but only a well-placed _Obliviate_ could make him forget what he'd seen, and it was a weighty secret to keep.

That wasn't to say that the lessons weren't effective, however – Draco, of course, had demonstrated his ability to resist Legilimency in the first session, and Hermione was showing signs of improvement as well. Harry still had quite a bit of trouble once Snape actually cast the spell, but he was at least now able to clear his mind effectively, and that was a start.

One morning in late October, Harry, Hermione, and Draco received another summons, this one from Dumbledore. The headmaster requested that the trio meet him in his office that evening at eight, and they passed the day in anxious anticipation – maybe Dumbledore was finally ready to discuss the rings. After a quick dinner and a sparring session in the Room of Requirement to calm their nerves, the teenagers made their way to Dumbledore's office.

"Fizzing Whizbees," Harry said, giving the password suggested by the letter. The gargoyle obediently sprang to the side to allow them access to the moving spiral staircase, and Harry couldn't help fidgeting a little as they rode to the top. Not wanting to wait another minute, he reached out and knocked on the door.

"Come in." They obeyed and stepped into the office, waiting for further cues.

"Ah, yes, of course. Good evening, Mr. Potter. Mr. Black, Miss Granger." Fawkes the phoenix, who sat on his perch next to Dumbledore's desk, gave a little chirrup in greeting.

"Good evening, Professor," Harry replied. "You wanted to see us?"

"I did," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "Do have a seat. Sherbet lemon?" He gestured to a small bowl on the edge of his desk. When the teenagers politely declined, he merely shrugged before choosing one of the candies for himself.

"Now I suppose you're wondering why I called you three here tonight," Dumbledore began.

"Does it have to do with the rings, sir?" Hermione asked eagerly. Her expression changed to one of disappointment as Dumbledore shook his head.

"Not tonight, my dear. Until we can determine the ring wearers' identities, I cannot see another reason to discuss them – they are all here and safe, and that is an important first step. No, I called you here to discuss something else – Tom Riddle's past."

"His past?" Harry repeated, looking confused. "What do you mean, Professor?"

"Know your enemy, Harry – I'm sure you're familiar with the idea? Yes? Good. Then because there is so little we know about the one who calls himself Lord Voldemort, I'm sure you'll agree that every detail we _do_ know could be extremely important?"

"What do you know, sir?" Draco asked. "And why are you suggesting sharing that knowledge with us, specifically? Wouldn't it be better to share it with the Order?"

"Ah, but there you are mistaken, Mr. Black," Dumbledore said. "While it is good for the Order to know some things, I believe that these particular details are more beneficial in your hands. The Sorting Hat's prophecy mentions 'the Chosen One', just as Professor Trelawney's prediction speaks of the one person with the power to bring Voldemort down."

"Could you remind us of that one, Professor?" Hermione asked. "We've been so focused on the Sorting Hat's words as of late, and I was still Petrified when you told the boys about the other prophecy."

"Certainly, Miss Granger." Dumbledore then removed an elaborate stone Pensieve from the cabinet behind his desk, along with a small vial containing a silvery substance they recognized as a memory. He deposited the strand into the bowl, and a misty figure emerged. Though Harry no longer took Divination and Draco and Hermione had never taken it in the first place, they all recognized Professor Trelawney's oversized spectacles and many gauzy shawls. The figure blinked up at them for a moment, then spoke:

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord has arrived in Wizarding Britain. In the darkest hour just before dawn, he will join forces with legends of old, and when the smoke clears, the final score shall be known."_

"And there you are," Dumbledore said as memory-Trelawney vanished. "Given that both prophecies mention legends and a single chosen individual, I think it is safe to guess that the two are linked. Though the prophecy doesn't name names, it's also safe to say that Harry is 'the Chosen One' – we've discussed this before, I believe; Voldemort has heard the second prophecy thanks to a spy who was present the night Professor Trelawney first spoke it, and though he could have gone after any number of candidates, he selected Harry as the biggest threat. _Why_ he chose Harry is anyone's guess, but there's no going back now – Harry is the sole answer to that particular riddle. This means that while the Order can certainly help, you are the ones who need this information most."

"Because I'm the one who will ultimately have to face off against him," Harry concluded, trying to suppress a shudder. Technically, he already _had_ faced off against Voldemort, in the Chamber of Secrets – he and Ginny had barely made it out alive, and that Voldemort had only been a memory…

"In so many words, yes," Dumbledore agreed. "Though of course there is no reason you need do so alone – you will have the rings' power to help you, for one, and of course the Order and any others dedicated to the cause. For now, however, we must prepare, and I think now is the time to take a little trip down Memory Lane – if we learn all we can about Tom Riddle's past, it might help us understand his motives for the present and future." He returned the memory of Trelawney's prophecy to its proper vial, then uncorked a second one and poured it into the basin.

"This is the memory of one Bob Ogden, who used to work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. On the date in question, he was paying a visit to a Mr. Marvolo Gaunt. Are you ready?" The trio nodded, and Dumbledore transported them into the Pensieve.

Once they'd adjusted to the unexpected sunlight, they found themselves in the company of a man who could only be a wizard – he'd attempted to dress in Muggle clothing, but the extremely odd ensemble he'd chosen suggested that he had little to no experience in the Muggle world. He was standing in the middle of a wide road, intently studying a signpost.

"Mr. Bob Ogden," Dumbledore said by way of explanation. Nodding at the signpost, Odgen began walking down a side path they hadn't noticed before, the vegetation growing steadily wilder as his hidden visitors followed. Finally, they reached a house – if it could even be called a house. 'Shack', or even 'hovel', would have been a much more appropriate word – the place was decrepit and in danger of collapsing, the gnarled old tree shrouding it in shadow looked very much dead, and the yard looked like it hadn't been maintained in years, if ever. Most disturbing of all was the large snake secured to the front door by a rusty nail.

"Ministry of Magic!" Bob Ogden called, clearly trying to mask the unease in his voice. "Open up!"

The two men that lived in the house were even more disturbing than the house itself – their clothes were threadbare and dirty, their hair shaggy and unkempt, and their dark eyes shone with distrust and even hatred towards the official on their front stoop. They both held wands, and the taller of the two also had a short, bloodstained knife.

"You're not welcome here," the shorter man said. He looked much older than his companion – Harry guessed at a father-son relationship, although the two men were so filthy it was hard to tell if there was any sort of familial resemblance at all.

"I'm here on official Ministry business," Ogden replied curtly. "Surely you received our owl informing you of the visit?"

"I don't open letters," the man said with a disinterested shrug.

"Well, that explains some things, Mr.…Gaunt, was it? Mr. Gaunt, I am here about a serious breach of the Statute of Secrecy. Perhaps we could continue this discussion inside?"

"Suit yourself," Mr. Gaunt said, shrugging again. He stepped aside to allow Ogden to pass through the front door – Ogden executed a rather odd maneuver in order to do so, desperate as he was to stay as far away as possible from the younger man's wicked looking blade. Harry and the others followed with ease, Hermione eying the dead snake on the door with much trepidation.

"Alright, what did you want?" Gaunt said gruffly.

"Mr. Gaunt, the Ministry received word that your son Morfin used magic in front of a Muggle in the early hours of this morning," Ogden said sternly. "This is a serious breach of-"

Whatever he intended to say was cut off as a loud clatter echoed through the house. Harry could see into the kitchen from where he stood, and he saw that the noise had been made by a large pot falling to the floor. Standing beside it, looking more afraid than anyone he'd ever seen before, was a girl, in her late teens if Harry had to hazard a guess. Her dark hair hung lank and dull around her shoulders, she was almost dangerously thin, and she looked like she wanted nothing more than to melt right into the floor and never be seen again.

"My daughter," Gaunt said. He then turned on the girl and shouted, "What are you waiting for, you stupid girl?" The girl bent low to pick up the fallen pot, causing her father to flush angrily.

"Acting like a filthy Muggle again – what's the matter with your wand?" When the girl tried to rectify her mistake, however, the pot sailed across the room and shattered.

"Useless, pathetic little whelp!" her father roared as his son began cackling with mad laughter.

"Mr. Gaunt," Ogden began, but it seemed like the Gaunts were no longer focused on their unexpected guest, but rather on the girl's unfortunate shortcomings.

"Descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself!" the elder Gaunt was saying, advancing on his daughter and yanking on a gold chain previously hidden by her long hair. _"Generations_ of pureblood wizards, and it all ends with nothing but a dirty Squib!"

"Mr. Gaunt," Ogden said again. "Your son-"

"My son gave that blasted Muggle exactly what he deserved," Gaunt snapped, releasing his grasp on the chain. His daughter fell to the floor, gasping for air, and they could all see the shiny golden locket hanging heavy against her breast. "That Riddle thinks he's so high and mighty, parading around like he owns the whole damn town – I don't care if he owns all of England; he's still a disgusting Muggle, and you're clearly no better, defending him, you scum-"

"Mr. Gaunt, that's enough-"

"Get out of my house, you pathetic excuse for a wizard! Do you know who I _am?_ We're the last remaining descendants of Salazar Slytherin!" Ogden decided that pointing out he'd already heard Gaunt say so when the older man had been shouting at his daughter was a bit pointless – Gaunt was spitting mad.

"That locket – it's his! And this!" He shoved his fist into Ogden's face, showcasing the rather ugly ring he wore. "Been in the family for centuries, and with the Peverell coat of arms! I don't give a rat's arse about that damn Muggle, and since you clearly do, you will get out of my house!" Gaunt's voice continued to rise in volume as he spoke, and Ogden backed towards the door, clearly frightened.

"But he must attend a hearing-"

Ogden was interrupted once more, this time by the sound of horses' hooves on the path outside.

"Ugh! Darling, is that a _snake_ nailed to that door?"

"I told you last night that the Gaunts are bad news, Cecilia my love. And you know, unfortunately, that we can't do anything about their being here…"

"I don't like it here, Tom, not at all – must we linger?"

"No, dearest, I quite agree. Let's hurry on, then, shall we?"

As the riders' conversation concluded, Morfin turned to his sister and hissed, his eyes glinting maliciously.

"Er…Professor?" Harry asked, very confused.

"I'll explain in a minute, Harry," Dumbledore replied. Whatever was going on, it didn't look good – the elder Gaunt now looked nearly apoplectic with rage, and he lunged towards his daughter.

"No!" Ogden shouted, but the scene quickly dissolved into chaos, and the Ministry official was forced to flee when Morfin turned on him, murder in his eyes. Odgen raced from the house without another word, nearly barreling right into the horses still stationed on the path. The two people sitting on those horses laughed heartily at the unfortunate man's strange attire, but they urged their horses into a brisk trot as soon as Morfin's face appeared at the door. The scene ended just as the Gaunt girl screamed, and the teenagers tumbled to the floor back in Dumbledore's office.

"My apologies," Dumbledore said as they scrambled to their feet and collapsed into their chairs once more.

"That girl," Hermione managed, still gasping for breath. "What happened to that poor girl?"

"She survived, if that's what you're asking, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. "Ogden returned with reinforcements from the Ministry, and they managed to overpower her father and brother, both of whom were sentenced to time in Azkaban."

"Ok, so these Gaunts are related to Slytherin, and the Peverells," Harry said.

"You've heard of the Peverells?" Dumbledore asked, just as Draco said, "Who are the Peverells?"

"That old grave I told you about from Godric's Hollow," Harry reminded his brother. "Sirius and I saw a performance of 'The Tale of the Three Brothers' while we were there, and Patrick O'Malley explained that some people think the brothers of the tale are the Peverells, the youngest of whom is buried in the village cemetery."

"Good, very good," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling again. "The Peverells may indeed play an important role in this tale when all is said and done, but that is a discussion for another day. Did you, perhaps, catch the name of the Muggle Morfin cursed?" The teenagers paused for a moment, thinking hard, before Hermione gasped.

"Riddle," she said. "He called him Riddle. You don't mean…"

"One and the same," Dumbledore said. "The Riddles' mansion is located just outside of Little Hangleton, and the young man you saw on the horse was, in fact, Tom Riddle Senior."

"Voldemort's father," Harry breathed. "I thought he looked sort of familiar…" He recalled the young man's face, then thought of the diary-Voldemort he'd seen in his second year. The resemblance was almost uncanny.

"So the girl on the other horse – was that his mother?" Draco asked.

"No," Hermione said immediately. "It couldn't be – he's a half-blood, remember? One of his parents had Wizarding blood."

"But then, who -"

"Wait a minute…didn't Mr. Ogden say the elder Gaunt's name was Marvolo?"

"But then that would mean…_no…"_ The teenagers stared at each other in disbelief, then looked to their headmaster for an explanation.

"Your conjectures are not incorrect," he said quietly. "Marvolo Gaunt was indeed Voldemort's grandfather, and his daughter, Merope – the girl in the kitchen – was his mother." They were silent for a long moment.

"But…_how?"_ Harry finally asked. "Maybe I misheard, but I thought Riddle made it pretty clear to his lady friend there what he thought of the Gaunts…"

"It is true he thought none too kindly of them, yes," Dumbledore agreed, steepling his long fingers and resting his chin on them. "Both father and son were ruthless, cruel, and caused more than their fair share of trouble, both in the village and out. Most people didn't even know Merope existed – as you could see, Marvolo didn't take kindly to having such a magically weak daughter, and she kept her head down out of self preservation, I think."

"What was going on at the end there?" Hermione questioned. "It sounded like they were hissing at each other."

"That's exactly what you would hear, Miss Granger – you, and anyone else who cannot speak Parseltongue. It was a trait Salazar Slytherin himself possessed, and all three of the Gaunts were gifted with it as well. I myself did not understand either, and so I tracked down a special translation spell – I shan't bore you with the entire conversation, but in essence, Merope secretly longed for her handsome Muggle neighbor, and her brother caught her watching him ride by on several occasions. Morfin hexed Riddle to get back at his sister, and the conversation you witnessed was Morfin revealing his sister's affections to their father – who, as I'm sure you surmised, was furious. Believe me when I say that his language is not worth repeating."

"I still don't understand how they – Riddle and Merope, that is – ended up together," Harry said. "Obviously they had to at some point, or Voldemort wouldn't exist at all."

"And wouldn't that be a shame," Draco muttered sarcastically. Dumbledore chuckled.

"Don't we all wish that, Mr. Black. As both people in question died long ago, we are looking more into the realm of speculation than fact, but the Muggle villagers insisted that young Riddle had to be under some sort of spell when they found out he'd run off with Merope Gaunt, of all people – and though they obviously wouldn't have known any better, it's highly possible that that was the case. The most probable candidates are the Imperius Curse or a love potion, and my guess would be the latter – we saw from the memories that Merope's skills with a wand left much to be desired, poor girl, and she probably would have felt the love potion route to be much more romantic anyway. However she did it, it was mere months after the incident we just witnessed that both she and Riddle were gone, and she fell pregnant not long after that."

"What happened then?" Draco asked. "I have a feeling this story didn't have a happy ending, especially since we know Voldemort deeply resents his father."

"Well, he could always harbor that resentment simply because of his father's heritage," Dumbledore said. "You are right, however – this story's ending is far from happy. Young Riddle returned to the village a few months later, alone, and Merope was never seen again. As I told you, most of this is merely conjecture, but I believe that Merope loved her husband deeply and could no longer bear the thought of forcing him to love her in return. So she stopped administering the potion – or whichever method she'd chosen – and told him the truth, and he abandoned her for it. Merope was very ill indeed when she stumbled into the orphanage where Voldemort was born, and she only lived long enough to name the child – Tom for his father, Marvolo for his grandfather. Voldemort, of course, learned all of this much later, and it wasn't long after that that all three Riddles – Tom Riddle Senior, plus his parents – turned up dead under mysterious circumstances."

"Such a terrible story," Hermione murmured. Dumbledore nodded gravely.

"Indeed it is, Miss Granger. If I recall, Professor Slughorn showed you a number of potions on your first day, including Amortentia – what he may or may not have told you is that it was probably the most dangerous of all the potions in his classroom that day. Too many people underestimate love, and too many people pay a steep sacrifice because of it – Voldemort was conceived in a loveless marriage, the manufactured love of the potion unable to come even close to the real thing, and whether this a byproduct of that or not, he neither desires nor understands true affection. Oh, he has plenty of followers, yes, but he doesn't truly care about anyone – he doesn't know how."

"That's really quite sad," Harry said softly. "I almost feel sorry for him." Dumbledore looked up.

"Almost?" he asked.

"Well…he _is_ trying to kill me, Professor."

"Very true – sympathy does tend to limit itself in such cases. However, you now at least understand where he is coming from, and that, I think, will be a very important asset in the future."

"Can we tell anyone about what we know, sir?" Draco asked.

"The fewer people who know, the better, I think," Dumbledore said. "I have more to share with you at a later date, and the information is of a very sensitive nature. However, I suspect you strongly wish to share tonight's events with Miss Weasley, and that would be acceptable – she has proven herself trustworthy many times over, and I suspect none of you would be able to keep this from her anyway."

"Probably not," Harry admitted sheepishly. "She's awfully perceptive. She'd be the only other person I'd want to tell though." Hermione and Draco nodded in agreement.

"That's settled, then. You may share what you've learned with Miss Weasley – and if she happens to be available during our future meetings, she is more than welcome to join us. I understand that the four of you are very busy, but I will get the information to you as soon as I can. Now, as it is getting quite close to curfew, I must insist that you three be heading to bed – off you go!"

* * *

Early the following week, Harry and Draco were heading downstairs for lunch, exchanging good-natured trash talk in anticipation of the upcoming Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Quidditch match, which was just around the corner. The rest of their Charms class was close behind, chatting happily about the lesson they'd just finished – even though N.E.W.T. classes were a lot of work, Charms still almost always put everyone in a good mood.

"Better make sure your goal scoring's on track, Draco!" Terry Boot said as he hurried to catch up. "Can't have Gryffindor winning by too much!"

"Hey!" Draco protested. "Who said Gryffindor's going to win?" Terry grinned.

"They've got Harry bloody Potter as their Seeker," he said, elbowing Harry in the ribs to emphasize his point. "Sorry, mate, but Harper's not even close. You better run up the score, though – point differential, you know. Help keep us Claws in the running, won't you?"

"Arse," Draco muttered, though it wasn't malicious.

"Yeah, whatever," Terry said dismissively, grin still firmly in place. "Listen, when's the next D.A. meeting? I reckon I'd like some extra practice with-"

"Look out!" a girl's voice shouted behind them. The three boys turned to see Lisa Turpin staring at something above their heads in horror. They looked up and barely had time to dive out of the way before something huge crashed to the floor exactly where they'd just been standing.

"What the hell!" Draco spluttered, untangling himself from Terry's books, which had scattered all over the corridor, and jumping to his feet. The wreckage of what looked like an oversized wardrobe was mere feet away, smoking slightly. Over by the window, Harry stood with his wand drawn, his expression furious.

"Peeves!" he shouted. "What the blazes did you do that for?" Peeves, who was floating some fifteen feet above the ground, crossed his arms and pouted.

"Nobody appreciates any fun anymore, they don't," he said petulantly.

"You think dropping furniture on our heads is fun?" Harry asked incredulously. "You could've killed us!"

"So worried about the details," Peeves muttered.

"What's going on here?" They looked up to see a whole entourage of people coming their way, Filch and McGonagall in the lead. They'd no doubt been attracted by the crash, which had shaken the entire corridor.

"Peeves dropped this in the middle of the floor," Harry explained quickly. "We only just got out of the way in time. Thanks for the warning, by the way, Lisa," he added, turning to the girl in question, whose face was white as a sheet.

"Anytime," she managed.

"Peeves!" Filch shouted. "I'll have you expelled for this, I will – that Vanishing Cabinet was extremely valuable!" Peeves merely cackled and threw half a dozen Dungbombs into the air, blowing raspberries and zooming away down the corridor as everyone in the vicinity ducked and covered their heads. Once the smoke had finally cleared, they saw that Filch had disappeared, no doubt to the headmaster's office to rant about Peeves' latest stunt. Professor McGonagall, who'd remained behind to survey the damage, turned to Harry.

"You say Miss Turpin warned you, Mr. Potter?"

"She did," Harry confirmed. "Draco, Terry, and I were walking to lunch and didn't see Peeves – she shouted for us to get out of the way."

"Ten points to Ravenclaw for your quick thinking, Miss Turpin," Professor McGonagall said. "Are any of you hurt?"

"No, Professor."

"Then I suggest you head down to the Great Hall, as was your original intention. I'll take care of this." Sensing that it was actually more of a command than a suggestion, the students obeyed without question, but the conversation erupted as soon as McGonagall was out of earshot.

"A Vanishing Cabinet?" Draco asked as they descended the last flight of steps.

"It sounds familiar, but I can't place it," Harry replied. "What are they?"

"They're transportation devices," Draco explained. "I came across them while doing research for a paper last year, can't remember which one. They usually come in pairs, and if they work properly, they make a kind of passageway between the two."

"But…what on Earth did we have a Vanishing Cabinet sitting in the middle of the corridor for?" Harry blurted. "What if its mate is functional? The thing could lead anywhere!"

"That's exactly what I'm worried about," Draco muttered. Though they'd reached the Great Hall, it was safe to say he didn't have much of an appetite anymore – the mystery of the Vanishing Cabinet was far too troubling.

* * *

**A/N: Don't worry, I won't be rehashing _all_ of the memories from HBP - this one was kind of important though. &amp; how about that Vanishing Cabinet...**

**Wishing everyone a very happy Memorial Day tomorrow, &amp; sending a huge thank you to all it honors.**

**Thank you all for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading! Hope you're enjoying so far. G/S ring secret unveiled in just a few more chapters - so excited!**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	15. Ginny's Revelation

Not surprisingly, talk of the Vanishing Cabinet incident surpassed talk of even the upcoming Quidditch match that week – the vast majority of Hogwarts' population hadn't even known the school _had_ a Vanishing Cabinet, and now everyone was eager to find out exactly what they were and what they did. Hogwarts had rarely seen so many students flocking to the library outside of exam time, and once they had, the conversations and rumors grew even more. The biggest mystery was what had happened to the Cabinet – the wreckage, of course, had been cleared away, but nobody seemed to know where it had gone. The only story everyone seemed to agree on was that Filch had failed yet again to expel Peeves from the school despite that his latest prank could have easily killed someone if Lisa hadn't shouted in time. No, despite the caretaker's best efforts, the castle's resident poltergeist was seen writing rude words on chalkboards and pelting first-years with inkwells just days later, his pranks back to their usual irritating but ultimately harmless status.

On the second Saturday in November, the students put aside their theories about the Cabinet and hurried down to the Quidditch pitch, hoping for good seats for the opening match of the season – Gryffindor hadn't opened against Slytherin since Harry's second year, and the rivalry always made for a good contest. Fourteen blurs of scarlet and emerald raced onto the field and took their positions to the cheers of the crowd, and Madam Hooch signaled for Harry and Bletchley to shake hands.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to today's game." Harry, who had just flown into position to await Madam Hooch's whistle, turned to the commentator's box and groaned. Lee Jordan, of course, was no longer a Hogwarts student, which meant that the position he'd so long held was now vacant, and it seemed that the first applicant was someone Harry thoroughly disliked: Zacharias Smith, the Hufflepuff Seeker. Smith had made several less-than-complimentary remarks at the first D.A. meeting the previous year, and he had seemingly perfected the art of talking down his nose to people.

"In the lineup for Gryffindor today, we have Chasers Bell, Robins, and Ginny Weasley, Beaters Coote and Peakes, Keeper Ron Weasley, and Seeker and Captain Harry Potter. Many might question some of Potter's choices, especially with regards to the Keeper position – backup Keeper Cormac McLaggen is clearly the superior talent, but apparently being the brother of the captain's girlfriend gets you extra points." Boos rang through the Gryffindor stands at Smith's announcement, and Harry vowed to hex the skinny blond boy the first chance he got. Ron had out-flown McLaggen at the trials – not by much, but he had – and McLaggen's pompous attitude and inability to perform as a member of a team instead of a self-centered individual meant that he had about as much chance of making the starting squad as Filch had of suddenly liking the students – in other words, none whatsoever. Harry hadn't missed the subtle dig at Ginny, either, and that was where Smith had really gone too far – unlike her brother's unfortunate tendency to doubt himself, Ginny was unquestionably one of the most talented Quidditch players in the whole school and would have earned her spot without a second thought from Harry even if he hadn't known her at all.

"Taking the field for Slytherin are Chasers Black, Urquhart, and Vaisey, Beaters Crabbe and Goyle, Seeker Harper, and Keeper and Captain Bletchley. Make of their roster what you will." This time it was the Slytherins' turn to jeer at Smith, and if Harry were being totally honest, he felt like joining in. If Smith's goal had been to make everyone hate him before the match had even begun, he'd succeeded wholeheartedly. As if sensing the discord ringing throughout the stands, Madam Hooch gave a shrill blast on her whistle and tossed the Quaffle skyward, setting the game in motion.

"And the Quaffle is immediately taken by Draco Black of Slytherin…"

The match was just like any other featuring Gryffindor and Slytherin – fast and furious. The Chaser trios were reasonably well matched, Gryffindor perhaps having a slight edge. The scarlet-clad players did take several hard hits from Bludgers, though – Peakes and Coote did their best, but there was nothing they could do about the fact that Crabbe and Goyle were easily twice their size, if not larger, and therefore had more brute strength to begin with. Harry himself was almost unseated by one of the vicious black balls, but he managed to get out of the way just in time.

"Black scores, and it's sixty-forty in favor of Slytherin. Keeper Weasley tosses the Quaffle to Bell, and play continues…"

The game continued in this manner for well over an hour, and slowly but surely, Slytherin began to drive up the score as Ron's resolve began to falter. The redheaded Keeper had made half a dozen truly excellent saves, but enough goals had gotten by that Harry could tell he was beginning to doubt himself.

"And I do believe that Harper has spotted the Snitch," Smith drawled. Harry whipped around in time to see Harper streaking towards the Slytherin goalposts, a small fleck of gold visible near the right hoop. Harry wasted no time in flattening himself to the handle of his broom and rocketing forward like a javelin. The Snitch rounded the goalpost, now more towards the center hoop, but Harper was still far closer. Ginny tossed the Quaffle through the right hoop then, but Slytherin was still ahead by thirty points.

"Come on!" Harry urged his broom. "Faster!" He ducked as a Bludger narrowly missed him, then stifled an elated shout when he realized said Bludger was headed directly towards Harper. The Slytherin Seeker was forced to swerve wildly in order to avoid it, and Harry jumped on the chance and sped forward, closing his hand over the Snitch as quickly as he could. He turned around in time to see Peakes grinning madly at him and his friends jumping and shouting in the stands.

"And Gryffindor wins, two hundred to eighty," Smith said, his sour expression reminiscent of one who'd swallowed a lemon. The Gryffindor team sank back to the ground amidst high-fives and hugs, ready for a celebration, while the Slytherins huffed and made a beeline for their locker room, the close loss obviously smarting.

"Party in the common room!" someone shouted as the jubilant Gryffindors began making their way back to the castle. The team members laughed and promised to arrive as soon as they could.

"Are we waiting for Draco?" Ginny asked as she packed away her Quidditch things and straightened her jumper.

"If he and Hermione aren't already otherwise occupied," Harry said, wiggling his eyebrows. Ginny burst into laughter and smacked his arm.

"Stop making fun of your brother, you arse. It's certainly not a bad thing if he's in love."

"No, it's not," Harry agreed with a chuckle. "Shall we?" He offered his arm to Ginny, and the two hurried out of the locker room. Draco and Hermione were waiting for them just outside the entrance to the Quidditch pitch, Draco's hand resting against the small of Hermione's back in a gesture that was obvious to their companions but virtually unnoticeable to anyone else.

"I do believe there's a party waiting for us," Hermione said with a grin as she stepped forward to hug each of them in turn.

"There's one for us, too," Draco said. "A pity party."

"Oh, stop it," Hermione scolded, rolling her eyes. "You played very well; it's not your fault that your Seeker couldn't stomach the thought of getting hit by a Bludger."

"He couldn't pull a Harry, you mean," Draco said with a laugh. "Or a you, come to think of it." In the past, Harry and Hermione had both received nasty hits from Bludgers while in pursuit of the Snitch, and on both occasions they'd persevered and won the game for Gryffindor.

"It's that reckless Gryffindor bravery," Harry said teasingly. "We Lions are too stubborn to even think of leaving the Snitch behind, so we always win."

"Keep telling yourself that," Draco retorted, though his tone was light as well. The four friends continued their banter all the way up to the castle, where Draco bid them goodbye in the entrance hall and left the Gryffindors to continue up to their tower common room.

The party was in full swing when they climbed through the portrait hole, and they hurried to grab food and drink before it was all gone – in addition to their 'reckless bravery', as Harry had put it, Gryffindors definitely liked to eat. The three friends nearly lost their appetites, however, when they spotted Ron, who was standing in the middle of the room snogging Lavender Brown as if his life depended on it. Lavender was participating with equal enthusiasm, and it was far more than any of them had ever wanted to see.

"Ugh, get a room!" Ginny called loudly. Ron tore his mouth from Lavender's with a loud smacking noise and glared at his sister.

"Like I haven't seen you doing the same thing," he retorted. "C'mon, Lav – let's go find somewhere private, shall we?" Lavender giggled and laced her fingers with Ron's before following him out of the portrait hole, making sure to send Hermione a vindictive glare before the portrait swung shut.

"What was _that_ about?" Ginny asked in bewilderment.

"Lavender probably thinks she's getting back at me for saying that my relationship with Draco meant far more than all of her slagging around," Hermione replied, not looking fussed in the slightest. Harry whistled lowly.

"You said that, Maya?"

"Of course I did," Hermione snapped. "Parvati asked about our Potions class on the first day back – you know, since she's not taking it anymore – and I told her about it. Lavender started making rude comments when I mentioned Slughorn had shown us Amortentia, and I told her off."

"She does seem rather difficult, doesn't she?" Ginny agreed. "I do hope my dear brother knows what he's getting into – Merlin knows he's been desperate for a snog for ages now, but this really isn't the best way for him to go about it." The trio decided to drop that line of conversation for the time being, found themselves empty seats near the fire, and tucked in to their snacks.

"By the way, Fleur owled me the other day to say she's definitely joining us for Christmas," Ginny said conversationally.

"Wait, what?" Harry asked. "Fleur, as in Fleur Delacour, from Beauxbatons? Not that it isn't great to hear from her, but why?"

"Because she's dating my brother?" Ginny said slowly, as if this were obvious. When Harry and Hermione merely gaped at her, she muttered, "Must not have told you that."

"Er, no," Harry said, still looking nonplussed.

"Fleur's dating Bill – my eldest brother, you remember him from the World Cup? Fleur got a job at Gringotts after she left Beauxbatons – wanted to improve her English – and Bill transferred to the London branch last year so he could better help the Order," Ginny explained. "They hit it off almost immediately and have been seeing each other for just over six months now."

"Six _months?"_ Hermione repeated. "And you didn't tell us?"

"Hey, we were a bit preoccupied with other things this summer!" Ginny defended. "And then I guess what with Quidditch, O.W.L. year, and all that, I just forgot."

"Ok, I'll give you the preoccupied over the summer excuse, but the rest is kind of lame, Gin," Harry said, grinning cheekily at her. Ginny reached over and punched his arm in response.

"Merlin, woman!" Harry yelped. "Twice in one day? That's abuse."

"Oh, stop it, you big baby," Ginny said, blowing him a kiss.

"Play nice, you two," Hermione chided, eliciting a fresh wave of laughter from her friends. "I'm glad they're together – it sounds like they're very happy, and they must be at least somewhat serious if Bill's bringing her 'round for Christmas."

"I think they are," Ginny said happily. "I had a hard time warming up to Fleur at first – she was so standoffish, you know? – but we write regularly now, and she's not bad at all. Now if we could just give Lupin and Tonks a push in the right direction…" She wiggled her eyebrows much as Harry had done back in the locker room.

"Lupin and Tonks?" Harry repeated. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. Tonks won't ever admit it, but just watch how she acts around him – she's mad for him, and the few times I've seen them together, I'd wager that Lupin's at least marginally interested as well."

"The Order's turning into one big love fest," Harry quipped, shaking his head. Ginny shrugged.

"Better that than being stuck with the Death Eaters," she said, and they all shuddered.

"Didn't need to think about that, Gin," Harry muttered. Ginny snorted.

"You're welcome, love. You're welcome."

* * *

Now that the opening Quidditch match was out of the way, the students' focus turned to the fast-approaching holidays. The first week of December, the castle took on its usual decorations, including enchanted garlands glittering on the banisters, everlasting icicles, and the standard dozen Christmas trees in the Great Hall. The D.A. threw Tracey a birthday party that weekend, as she had just turned seventeen, and Professor Flitwick taught them several holiday-related charms in class. Everyone was eagerly anticipating the holidays, and the Hogwarts Express carried loads of good cheer as it journeyed back to London on the last day of term.

Harry, Hermione, and Draco returned to Surrey for Christmas, Dumbledore having determined that their safe house was indeed still that – Bob Granger had been staying with Sirius during his recovery period, and so it was only natural that they all remained at the Potter-Black house for the holidays. Christmas Day, however, was spent at Grimmauld Place, where they enjoyed a mountain of food courtesy of Molly Weasley, as well as the company of their friends and family. Gifts were exchanged, carols were sung, and everyone agreed that the holiday was one of the best days they'd had in a long while. The Surrey contingent spent that night at Grimmauld Place, as did the Weasleys, and the teenagers were enjoying some relaxation time in the girls' room before bed when Ginny suddenly sat bolt upright, her eyes wide.

"Gin?" Fred asked, as he was the first to notice her expression.

"I've got it," she whispered.

"Got what?" Ron asked. His question was distorted by a mouthful of Cauldron Cake.

"I need to talk to Harry, Draco, and Hermione," Ginny said quickly. "Alone." The three she'd named immediately looked interested, while Ron began to protest.

"Ron, just shut up, please," Ginny said. "We were having such a nice night; don't ruin it. And I only need them for five minutes, but this is really important. I promise you can all come back as soon as I'm done." Ron was still reluctant to leave, but he knew better than to argue with the girl who produced the best Bat-Bogey Hex in all of Hogwarts, and he and the twins eventually left the room.

"Alright, spill," Draco demanded as soon as Fred had shut the door. "What did you mean?"

"I've got it," Ginny repeated, her brown eyes sparkling with excitement. "I think I've figured out what the Gryffindor-Slytherin line in the prophecy means."

_"What?"_ Harry gasped. "How? What do you think it means?"

"I've been thinking about it ever since you told me what Dumbledore showed you in the Pensieve," Ginny said quickly. "And after spending such a wonderful day with everyone I care about, I believe it even more. The one thing Voldemort doesn't understand – 'the enemy's ignorance' – is what drove your mum's actions that Halloween. It's what Merope Gaunt tried to imitate but couldn't, it's we feel for each other, and it's what we all felt in abundance today." Ginny clapped her hands and laughed.

"It's love, Harry. The enemy's ignorance is love."

* * *

**A/N: And there you have it - the Gryffindor/Slytherin ring clue is a mystery no more! Major kudos to xxSecretShadowsxx for figuring it out beforehand! Now, what they'll do about it remains to be seen - I have a feeling you're all going to hate me by the end of the next chapter...whoops.**

**Thank you all, as always, for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading! You're the best.**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	16. Tracey's Secret

Love.

It was such a simple solution, but when they thought about it, none of their other theories had ever felt so right. How they hadn't seen it before, they didn't know, but they knew Ginny's guess made sense - if there was anything Voldemort didn't understand, it was love.

"What do we do now?" Hermione asked.

"We go straight to Dumbledore's office when we get back to Hogwarts after the holidays and have you two try on the rings," Ginny said at once. When Hermione merely stared at her in shock, Ginny added, "Come on, Herms - don't tell me your brilliant mind hasn't reached that conclusion yet? We need two romantically involved people who exhibit the qualities of a Gryffindor and a Slytherin - if you and Draco don't fit that description perfectly, then who does?" Hermione and Draco looked at each other.

"She's got a point, you know," Draco said as he gently squeezed Hermione's hand. "Gryffindor-Slytherin couples are hard enough to come by as it is." Hermione blinked slowly several times.

"I...wow," she said finally. "I just...I can't believe we're actually a part of this, Dragon. This is incredible!" She still looked as though she were having trouble processing the idea, but was pleased nevertheless.

"No kidding," Harry agreed, running his fingers through his hair. "My brother and my best friend...now we just have to get you in on it somehow, Gin, and we'll be golden."

"Well, I don't think I quite fit the bill for either of the remaining rings," Ginny said with a slight snort. "I get good marks and am near the top of my class, sure, but I'm not really true Ravenclaw material, and I'm far too impatient to be a Hufflepuff. But maybe I can help some other way - wield a secret one-of-a-kind weapon, or something."

"A secret one-of-a-kind weapon?" Harry said teasingly. "At least you've got an active imagination."

"Hey!" Ginny said indignantly. "We've already found four rings linked to the magic of Hogwarts itself - you never know what might still be out there."

"Sure, sure," Harry joked, but he wrapped an arm around her shoulders affectionately all the same.

Now that they'd deciphered the rings' clue, the four friends were anxious for the holidays to end - not that they wanted to leave the familiar warmth of family or return to piles of difficult homework, but they wanted to test their theory as soon as possible. Aboard the Hogwarts Express, they sought out Tracey and Blaise, the only others in their friend group who knew of the prophecy, and were happy to find the Slytherin couple alone.

"Hey," Harry said as he slid open their compartment door. "Can we talk?"

"Sure," Blaise replied with a shrug, setting aside the magazine he'd been reading. "Come in." Tracey, who'd been absentmindedly staring out the window, turned and gave them a smile, but it was very weak and didn't reach her eyes.

"You alright, Trace?" Hermione asked. "You look upset."

"It's nothing," Tracey said, brushing it off with a wave of her hand. "Rough holiday, that's all." Hermione gave her a sympathetic look - Tracey had had similar experiences before, most of them due to her father, who was an overbearing, intimidating individual whose ideals were very different from Tracey's own.

"This time's different," Blaise insisted in an undertone to Harry and Draco, taking care that Tracey couldn't hear him. "She's always at least told me what's going on, but she refuses to say anything about it now. Whatever it is, it's something big." The boys exchanged worried glances, but Tracey's troubles were put aside for the moment when Ginny began telling the story of their discovery and Blaise was forced to listen if he wanted to know what had happened.

"Wow," Blaise said once they'd finished. "So you two are actually part of the quartet - that's awesome."

"I know," Hermione agreed with a grin. "I can't wait to see what sort of power the rings channel - I'll bet it's amazing."

"Are you _sure_ you're not meant to wear the Ravenclaw ring, Hermione?" Blaise joked. "Because it's usually only a Ravenclaw who would immediately comment on something so..."

"Nerdy?" Harry suggested teasingly.

"I was going to say academic, but I suppose that works too," Blaise said with a laugh. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Thanks for the love, you two," she said sarcastically.

"Oh, you know we love you, Maya," Harry replied.

"So how do we want to do this?" Ginny asked. "Talk to Dumbledore, I mean."

"We should probably write him a note saying we want to meet," Harry said. "Chances are he's changed his password over the holidays - the man comes up with a new sweet every week, I swear - but even if he hasn't, we can't just go barging into the headmaster's office unannounced. We know he's busy, and sometimes I don't think he's even at the school to begin with."

"Well, then let's write him," Hermione said, already pulling quill and ink from her bag. After carefully balancing her inkwell so it wouldn't tip over, she loaded up her quill and scrawled out a note:

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_ it said, _We would like to request a meeting with you at your earliest convenience - we discovered something related to our summer excursions over the holidays and would like to discuss it as soon as possible._

"That's good," Ginny said. "It gets the point across, but it doesn't say anything we wouldn't want known if someone else happened to read it." The others agreed, and everyone signed the note, Harry tucking it in his pocket to send it off with Hedwig as soon as they reached Hogsmeade.

* * *

The interlude between Harry's sending of the note and Hedwig's return with a response was, in reality, less than a day, but it felt like an eternity to the impatient Gryffindor. He lost points in Defense when he seriously botched the lesson material and accidentally gave Ron sheep's horns, and Hermione only narrowly saved him from adding a key ingredient out of order during Potions class, the results of which would have caused an explosion large enough to land the entire class in the hospital wing. Having either witnessed or heard about Harry's distracted antics all day, the friends breathed a collective sigh of relief when Hedwig's snowy plumage appeared in the Great Hall at dinner.

"Tomorrow night at eight," Harry whispered to Hermione and Ginny as soon as he'd read the note. "He can see us tomorrow night at eight." Hermione scribbled a charmed parchment message to Draco so their Slytherin compatriots would know what was going on, and they finished dinner in the most peaceful state they'd known since their return to Hogwarts.

The next day's classes weren't nearly so bad, but Harry was still anxious to let the headmaster in on their latest discovery, and by the end of dinner, he was checking his watch so frequently that his fellow housemates probably thought the thing was broken. Finally, Hermione took pity on him and dragged him upstairs to the Room of Requirement for a duel, and it was a much calmer Harry that stood with his friends outside Dumbledore's office at eight o'clock.

"Acid pops," Draco said, and the gargoyle sprang to life.

"Ah, yes, do come in," Dumbledore said brightly when he saw who was waiting for him. "Please, have a seat." With a wave of his wand, there were enough squashy armchairs for everyone, and they sank into the thick cushions with murmurs of appreciation.

"Mmm," Ginny said with a sigh. "I hope I'm this good at furniture spells someday." Dumbledore chuckled.

"Yes, it is well worth the practice, isn't it?" he agreed. "Tea?" He gestured towards a silver tea service they hadn't previously noticed – or perhaps it had only just appeared; who really knew – and the teenagers helped themselves with a second round of murmurs, this time of thanks.

"Now, I understand that you had something important you wished to discuss?" Dumbledore asked as he stirred his tea. He set the little spoon on his saucer and looked expectantly at his visitors.

"We did," Harry said. "We think we've figured out the Gryffindor-Slytherin ring clue. D'you want to tell him, Gin, since it was your idea?" Ginny blushed deeply but nodded.

"Ok," she said, pausing to take a deep breath. "We…well, I…it's love, Professor. The enemy's ignorance – I think it's love."

"An astute observation, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "I do believe your conclusion is correct. And how would you suggest that relates to the rings' clue?"

"Well, if the Gryffindor and Slytherin rings are to be given in the name of love, that would suggest we need a couple," Ginny said. "A couple who exhibit the prized traits of a Gryffindor and a Slytherin – and I think that Draco and Hermione are the answer to that."

"Well done, indeed," Dumbledore said. His tone suggested that he'd already come to this conclusion long ago but had wanted the teenagers to figure it out for themselves – none of them would've been surprised if that were the case, as Harry distinctly recalled, back when they had first discussed the prophecy, the headmaster saying he had ideas of his own but wanted to see what they made of it.

"How are we going to achieve that, Professor?" Harry asked. "How are we going to make it clear to the rings that these two are wearing them in the name of love?" Dumbledore looked thoughtful.

"The most obvious solution, of course, would be a marriage," he said finally, but Hermione quickly cut him off.

"No." Everyone turned to stare at her, and she blushed.

"Go on, Miss Granger," Dumbledore encouraged, sensing she had more to say.

"I…that is…it's not that I don't want to marry you, Draco, because I…" Hermione faltered and turned even redder. "It's just that…well, I'd rather not do so just because something says we have to, you know? And we wouldn't even be able to keep the rings; they belong to Hogwarts, not us, and using them as a placeholder just doesn't feel right…" She was rambling now, her tone becoming increasingly anxious as she tried to justify her abrupt rejection of the idea.

"Lotte, hush," Draco soothed, taking her hand in his and stroking his thumb along the back in a calming motion. "I'm not offended, love, and I quite agree with you – when that happens, I want to do it properly too." At his use of the word 'when' as opposed to 'if', Hermione bit her lip shyly and Ginny let out a barely audible sigh.

"Love," the redhead murmured, so quietly it was almost to herself.

"Love, indeed," Dumbledore said with a slight chuckle. "Well, it's quite obvious you're both opposed to that plan, and so we need another. Are either of you familiar with the concept of promise rings?"

"Somewhat," Hermione said. "They can be given as a precursor to an engagement ring, symbolizing a couple's commitment to each other but without the added expectations of an actual marriage."

"Precisely," Dumbledore said with a nod. "Although the exchange doesn't necessarily have to involve a romantic relationship – they can also be given by close friends, or perhaps from a parent to a child – but in this case, the romantic component is what we need. There is a similar idea in the Wizarding world – a spell, actually – although it is not used all that often, simply because most people these days have never heard of it."

"How does it work?" Hermione asked, always eager for knowledge.

"The spell doesn't have a name – it is simply called 'The Promise' – and much like a wedding, it requires the two people making the promise, plus a witness to perform the bond. I would have to look into the particulars – I don't think I've witnessed a promise bonding in fifty or sixty years – but I think it would have the desired effect."

"I think that will work just fine," Draco agreed. "Thank you, Professor."

"You're very welcome, my dear boy. Now, was there anything else you wished to discuss this evening?" His eyes lingered on Blaise and Tracey, neither of whom had yet spoken.

"No, sir," Harry said. "That was all."

"Very well. I will look into the ceremony and let you know as soon as I find something," The teenagers thanked Dumbledore for the tea and the chat, and with a scraping of chairs, they left the headmaster's office.

"This just keeps getting more and more interesting, doesn't it?" Blaise commented as the gargoyle hopped back into place. "First you get to wear the rings, now you're having the headmaster read up on rare old ceremonies…maybe you were meant to wear the Gryffindor ring after all, Hermione – how many students can say they've made Dumbledore himself do research?" he joked.

"Oh, hush, Blaise," Hermione said exasperatedly as the others laughed. "Although I must admit I am curious about how the ceremony works…" she added with a sheepish grin.

"You wouldn't be Hermione if you weren't," the Slytherin replied, throwing an arm around her shoulder and giving her an affectionate squeeze. "Our resident bookworm."

"As much as I love watching you flirt with my girl, Blaise, don't you have a Charms essay to finish?" Draco asked sardonically. He raised an eyebrow at them in that imperious way he'd long ago perfected, and Harry and Ginny burst into laughter once more.

"Damn," Blaise muttered. "I was hoping you'd forgotten about that essay…"

"It's Charms, Blaise," Draco said with a smirk. "Not a chance, my friend. Not a chance."

* * *

In spite of the steep decline of its actual use, it appeared that the promise spell was rather well documented, as Dumbledore sent Harry another note just three days later – he had found all the details he needed, and the six friends were to meet him in his office that Sunday evening so they could test the spell. On Sunday after dinner, they did as they'd been asked and hurried to the gargoyle, which admitted them upon Harry's declaration of 'Licorice Wands'.

"Good evening, once again," Dumbledore greeted them. "Please take a seat." The teenagers wasted no time in reclaiming their comfortable chairs and eagerly waited for Dumbledore to speak.

"The spell is extremely simple and closely mirrors the structure of a marriage ceremony, although I promise it shan't bind you with those types of ties," Dumbledore began. "You will still be free to pursue such things at a later date, of your own choosing and of your own will."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said. She couldn't deny that she wanted that marriage someday, but she definitely didn't want it under such circumstances. She wanted it because she wanted it, plain and simple, and she knew Draco felt the same.

"Of course, my dear. Now, if you're both agreeable to the idea, I will be your bonder, as I am the only one here with the knowledge of how the spell works. Miss Granger and Mr. Black, you will stand here, facing each other." He pointed to a spot in front of his fireplace, and the couple complied.

"Much like a marriage vow, each of you will take a turn making your promise – something simple will do, not to worry," Dumbledore said. "After that, you shall put on the rings, and because you will have completed this promise, the rings should recognize that bond even if you remove them directly after the ceremony – which, for safekeeping purposes, I'm sure you'll agree is a necessary precaution." The teenagers nodded in agreement.

"Excellent. You both understand what you need to do? Good. Let's get started, then. Join hands, please." Draco and Hermione did as they were told, and Dumbledore touched his wand to their clasped hands.

"Let the promise be spoken," he said. A ribbon of soft purple light twisted from his wand and snaked around the couple's hands. "Ladies first, Miss Granger." Hermione swallowed hard and nodded.

"Let these words be a promise of my love for you," she said, her words clear in spite of her obvious nerves.

"Mr. Black?"

"With these words, I promise that my heart belongs to you," Draco said. A second thread of light, this one gold, joined the first, the effect dazzling in the firelight.

"Let the promise ring true forevermore," Dumbledore finished. He held open his free hand, revealing the Gryffindor and Slytherin rings sitting on his palm, and motioned for Draco to take one. Draco picked up the Gryffindor ring and slid it onto Hermione's finger.

Nothing happened. The ring stayed in its plastic-like disguise, far too large for Hermione's slender finger.

"Why didn't it work?" Blaise asked, looking puzzled. They all merely stared at the ring for a long moment.

"Wait," Ginny said suddenly. "That's not right."

"No, Miss Weasley?" Dumbledore asked.

"No. We all agree that the Gryffindor ring is Hermione's and the Slytherin ring is Draco's, yes?" The others nodded and mumbled their agreement. "But the line in the prophecy says 'given freely' – might that imply that though, for instance, Hermione gets the Gryffindor ring, she's supposed to 'give' it to Draco, and vice versa? Take the rings they represent and swap them in the name of love?"

"I think you might be on to something, Gin," Harry said with a nod. "It can't hurt to try, can it?"

"No, I wouldn't think so," Dumbledore agreed. "It might be best to repeat the promise, just to be safe, but Miss Weasley's suggestion does merit some thought." Hermione removed the unchanged Gryffindor ring and gave it back to Dumbledore, and the trio repeated the promise spell. This time, Draco picked up the Slytherin ring. When he made to put it on Hermione's finger, however, he found that he couldn't move it any further than just past her first knuckle – no matter what he tried, it was like a magical barrier prevented him from putting the ring on fully. The ring sparked, and they saw a flash of the emerald and platinum hidden beneath the plastic, but it refused to go any further.

"What _now?" _Harry muttered. "Professor, what's going on?"

"I'm not sure," Dumbledore admitted. "Miss Granger, will you try?" He held out the Gryffindor ring, and Hermione took it. Seconds later, she found herself facing the same problem – the ring sparked and showed a flash of its ruby and gold makeup, but it wouldn't slide more than a fraction of the way onto Draco's hand.

"Could it be that these rings have too much of their own magic?" Hermione asked uncertainly. "Perhaps they're too powerful in their own right to be bound in such a way?"

"I'm not sure, but I don't think so," Dumbledore said. "The prophecy is worded that way for a reason, after all – if exchanging the rings in such a way was impossible, it would not have…"

"I know why it didn't work," Tracey blurted suddenly. All eyes turned to her, and she flushed pink.

"Trace?" Draco asked. "What's wrong?" He'd seen Tracey biting her lip apprehensively from the minute they'd stepped into Dumbledore's office, and now she looked ready to cry.

"I've been trying to figure out how to tell you," Tracey said, her tone miserable and her eyes beginning to cloud over. "Merlin, you have no idea how much I don't _want_ to tell you. You have no idea how much I don't want it to be true…" A few tears spilled over and ran down her still-pink cheeks.

"Tracey, what's wrong?" Hermione repeated soothingly. "Why didn't the spell work?" Tracey sniffed loudly and wiped her face with her fingers.

"It didn't work," she said, clearly struggling with the words, "because the spell is recognizing another bond. I…oh, Salazar, Draco, I'm so sorry…you have no idea… The spell didn't work because Draco is already engaged…to me."

* * *

**A/N: Wouldn't be fun without a new problem every few chapters, would it...oh man. How are they going to get around this one?**

**Thank you, as always, for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading! Hope you're still all liking the story - lots more to go!**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	17. Contracts and Accusations

For a long moment, no one spoke or moved as they all stared at Tracey in shock. Finally, Draco broke the silence.

"Er…Trace? Perhaps you could fill me in, because I don't exactly remember proposing to you? I know a lot of ridiculous stuff happens during Quidditch parties, but…"

"It's not a bloody joke, Draco!" Tracey snapped. That shut Draco up immediately – Tracey almost never swore to begin with, and she'd just done so, without hesitation, _in front of the headmaster._ Something was definitely wrong.

"Perhaps we should all sit down, and then Miss Davis can explain?" Dumbledore suggested. The six teenagers mutely took their seats, and everyone else immediately turned to Tracey, who shuddered and wrung her hands nervously before speaking.

"I only just found out about it, I swear," she began. "You remember how the D.A. threw me a birthday party for my seventeenth just before the holidays?" The others nodded.

"So you're a legal adult in the Wizarding world now, like I am," Hermione said. Tracey nodded.

"Yes. There was a second celebration at my house over the holidays – not with friends, though; most of the guests were business acquaintances of my father's. After the party, my father took me to his study and told me about the contract."

"Contract?" Draco asked.

"It's a marriage contract – our fathers drew it up when we were still infants," Tracey explained. "He told me that now that I was seventeen, I needed to know about my obligations, and that I was to inform you as well, since he didn't trust your, and I quote, 'blood traitor guardian' to do so."

"Bugger," Blaise grumbled under his breath. Ginny, who was closest, gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. This conversation couldn't have been comfortable for him to begin with – Tracey was his longtime girlfriend, after all – but to hear on top of that that said girlfriend was betrothed to one of his best mates? Ouch.

"Blaise?" Hermione said quietly, sensing that he had more to say. Blaise sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"Given my dear mother's ability to go through husbands like none other, I'm rather more familiar with Wizarding contracts than I'd like to be," he said. "Not necessarily marriage contracts, per se, as none of her marriages were arranged, but there have still been plenty of legal matters to settle. Wizarding contracts are almost impossible to break, and I suspect that marriage agreements are the same." Blaise looked to Dumbledore for confirmation, and the headmaster nodded.

"Wizarding marriage contracts cannot be broken unless under very specific circumstances," Dumbledore said. "The affected parties can only mutually dissolve the contract if all who wrote it are deceased, and as is obvious given that Miss Davis only recently spoke to her father, that is not the case here."

"So even once I turn seventeen in June, we still won't be able to do anything about it?" Draco asked.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Black, but so long as Tracey's father lives, that route is unavailable to you," Dumbledore said apologetically.

"What about a loophole?" Harry demanded. "Or a contractual error?"

"We could examine the contract for one, of course, but those involved in a betrothal's creation tend to take extra precautions against such things," Dumbledore warned. "Breaking this contract will not be easy."

"Who called for the betrothal, Trace?" Blaise asked.

"What do you mean?" Tracey looked confused.

"Did your family petition the Malfoys for the contract, or was it the other way around?"

"My father approached Lucius," Tracey said. "He told me that when he told me about the contract – said an alliance with the Malfoys would be good for our standing, and of course he added that it might help us both – Draco and I, that is – come to our senses, as it were." She looked apologetic.

"Because your father knows you don't sympathize with the Death Eaters, and he probably knows of Draco's connection to Harry – Merlin knows everyone else does." Blaise looked thoughtful.

"Why did you want to know who'd asked for the betrothal, Blaise?" Ginny asked.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Professor, but marriage contracts aren't really that popular anymore, from what I understand," he replied. When the headmaster confirmed this thought, Blaise added, "I read up on them a bit a few years ago when I was doing research about a different agreement related to my mother's fifth husband. Seems that once we hit the twentieth century, even the staunchest of purebloods were demanding the freedom to select their own spouses – they were still determined only to marry other purebloods, which kept the number of potential candidates small, but they wanted to be able to make the final choice for themselves. Prior to that, there are plenty of documented cases of unhappy marriages and even abuse, because the couple had nothing in common, or, in some cases, one party was in love with someone else instead. Pureblood society had never really frowned on the idea of keeping a mistress, but bastard children greatly complicate things, since they can't inherit. There were also problems when one of the partners died before the wedding – from childhood illness, for example. This left the surviving partner with two choices: stay single for life, as it was almost a guarantee that all the other members of his or her peer group were already contractually betrothed; or risk disgrace and disinheritance by marrying outside of the 'acceptable' circle."

"Wow, Blaise," Harry muttered. "You should consider going into Wizarding law."

"I quite agree," Dumbledore said with a slight chuckle. "Mr. Zabini, you would certainly make a fine legal representative one day, I can tell you that. Everything you just said about marriage contracts is the truth – they are much rarer than they used to be because, as you just told us, they caused an extraordinary number of problems that far outweighed the supposed benefits."

"While this little history lesson has certainly been informative, it's not exactly helping with our current situation, sir," Draco said, perhaps a little more bluntly than was strictly polite.

"Yes, it has," Hermione insisted before Dumbledore could reply. "We now know what we're up against. We know that marriage contracts are far from commonplace, and we know that Tracey's father was the one to petition it – if we can find out _why_ he insisted on such an outdated practice, that might bring us closer to finding a way to break it. I don't think we'll be able to find out why the Malfoys agreed to it, as we have no way of speaking to them…oh wait!" she said suddenly. "Dragon, what about that portrait of your mother?"

"She wouldn't know," Draco said, shaking his head. "At least, I don't think she would – that portrait was painted long before I was born, and the subject only knows what she's heard over the years, which I doubt include discussions of my betrothal."

"You don't think the real Narcissa might've talked to her about it?" Ginny questioned. "Didn't you say, before the other portraits were frozen, that your mother's portrait form was able to move from Lucius' study to a second frame in Narcissa's rooms, and that the two would talk?"

"I'm not sure that the real Narcissa knew," Tracey admitted. "The contract was drawn up and signed only by our fathers, not our mothers."

"Another very pureblood notion, to be sure," Dumbledore said. "Women weren't supposed to have a say in such things, and so I'm not surprised that the contract contains only the fathers' signatures."

"I feel like a possession, auctioned off to the highest bidder without any thought to what I actually want," Tracey muttered in distaste.

"You and many others before you, my dear," Dumbledore said sympathetically.

"Tracey, can you get us a copy of that contract?" Hermione asked. "We won't be able to work on breaking it if we don't have the exact wording."

"You should be able to," Blaise said. "You're seventeen, and the contract directly affects you – legally, you're entitled to as many copies as you'd like."

"I'll get on that, then," Tracey agreed. She paused then, looking upset once more. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," Draco reassured her. "We know you weren't the one who arranged it, and we'll do our best to get us out of this mess."

"I just don't want to take away your chance at happiness," Tracey said, the tears threatening to spill over once again. "It's not fair."

"No, it's not. But we'll make it work – somehow."

* * *

That very night, Blaise helped Tracey draft a letter to the appropriate people asking for copies of her betrothal contract – Draco offered them Berenice, as neither of the other two Slytherins owned owls, and the beautiful tawny bird took off with the envelope the next morning. After his first class, Draco returned to the Slytherin dormitories for his latest tutoring session with Theodore Nott – Nott's Charms work had improved significantly since Draco had begun tutoring him, but the dark-haired boy insisted that they keep up the sessions to help him maintain his higher marks. They had an exam in the subject the following Tuesday, and so Draco began sorting his notes to prioritize with what he knew Flitwick would be asking. Nott arrived shortly thereafter, and the two boys began their study session, methodically working through wand movements and incantations. Draco corrected a pronunciation here and there, but Nott was far more competent – and confident – than he'd been even just a few weeks ago.

Halfway through a discussion about Color-Changing Charms, the dormitory door opened, Pansy Parkinson silhouetted in the frame.

"Can we help you with something, Parkinson?" Draco asked coolly. "We're in the middle of a study session."

"Can't a girl say hello to her boyfriend?" Pansy replied. She sauntered over to Nott and slid herself in between his body and the table so that she was straddling his lap and began to place wet kisses all over his face and neck. Her dark eyes, however, remained on Draco as much as possible, and the blond had to refrain from snorting. She'd been failing at this game for years now – was she _ever_ going to get the bloody hint?

"Pansy, darling, I really do need to revise for this exam," Nott drawled, though he tried very little in the way of pushing her off. Pansy pouted, sticking her bottom lip out as far as it could go for maximum effect, but Nott merely shook his head and lifted her off his lap with a gentle but firm grip on her hips.

"Later, dearest," he said. "Run along and find Millie – it's almost time for class, is it not?"

"Still twenty minutes yet," Pansy replied almost petulantly. Nott sighed heavily.

"Studying, Pans," he reminded her.

"Yeah, whatever." Pansy waved her hand dismissively. "I still don't understand why you feel the need to study with _him,_ Theo – unless, of course, Draco has seen the error of his ways?" She sounded a little too hopeful for someone who was talking to her supposed boyfriend.

"Not likely, seeing as there was no 'error' in the first place," Draco replied smoothly. Pansy scowled.

"I told you that you would regret treating me badly someday, Draco," she all but snapped. "Cavorting with Mudbloods and blood traitors – you disgust me."

"Nothing I haven't heard before, Pansy dearest." Even Pansy couldn't miss Draco's blatant sarcasm, and she sniffed haughtily and stuck her nose in the air. Without so much as a nod in farewell, she wrenched open the door and slammed it forcefully behind her before stalking off, her angry footfalls audible even from a distance.

"Please excuse Pansy," Nott said nonchalantly. "She can be a bit…dramatic. Shall we continue?" Draco stared at the door for a long moment, wondering whether it was worth the aggravation known as Pansy Parkinson to continue tutoring Nott, before nodding and turning back to his textbook. There were only fifteen minutes left until the bell rang, anyway – he was pretty sure he could survive fifteen minutes.

* * *

Tracey's copy of the contract came a few days later, and the friends wasted no time poring over the parchment's contents. Most of it was legal jargon they didn't understand – Hermione was already making a list of library books she thought might contain helpful information – but the gist of the contract was quite simple: Draco and Tracey were to be married on a mutually agreed-upon date as soon after their seventh year ended as possible.

"Wizards like getting married young, don't they?" Harry mused as they studied the contract. His parents, the Weasleys, and the Malfoys, among many others, had all married in their late teens.

"Well, when the purpose of a pureblooded marriage is to produce an heir, you don't want to waste any time," Blaise said. "Just because witches tend to live longer than Muggle women doesn't mean they can bear children for longer, and of course they need to make sure that they produce a healthy child – miscarriages and stillborn children are, unfortunately, very common in pureblood families due to all the inbreeding."

"Does it matter that the contract names him as Draco Lucius Malfoy?" Hermione asked, pointing to the passage in question. "He hasn't gone by that name for twelve years now." Blaise shook his head.

"I may not know as much about marriage contracts as I do about other types of agreements, but I do know that a name change isn't enough to get you out of anything like this," he said. "Black, Malfoy, he's still the same person, and thus still obligated to fulfill the terms."

Draco sighed. As much as he didn't want to admit it, the task of breaking this contract was looking more impossible by the minute.

* * *

Unfortunately for Draco and his friends, demanding schedules filled with classes, homework, Quidditch, patrols, and D.A. meetings left very little spare time to work on the contract. In mid-February, a notice on the common room message boards added yet another activity to their already busy lives, but this one was something they were all looking forward to – Apparition lessons. Given his poor reactions to Side-Along Apparition, Harry was a little more apprehensive than most, but he hoped that he might have an easier time with the real thing, and so he signed his name after Hermione's on the enrollment sheet. The first lesson was scheduled for the last Saturday in February, and those students who would be seventeen by the start of the following school year crowded into the Great Hall, eager to begin. Their instructor, a wispy little man called Wilkie Twycross, told them to spread out so that they had sufficient space all around them, and once everyone had gotten into position, he began.

"The most important things to remember when Apparating," he said, "Are the three D's – Destination, Determination, and Deliberation. You must fix your destination firmly in your mind, and move through space with determination and deliberation. Now, as I am sure you are all well aware, it is normally impossible to Apparate or Disapparate within the Hogwarts grounds – for these lessons, that restriction will be lifted _only_ during the hour designated for the class, and _only_ in the Great Hall. You will not be able to Apparate outside this room, and attempting to do so could easily result in something far worse than Splinching. Now, please focus on your hoops" – he waved his wand, and a plain wooden hoop appeared before each student – "and concentrate fully on your _determination_ to occupy the space within!"

The lesson was a bit of a disaster, truth be told – the most exciting thing that happened was Susan Bones Splinching herself halfway through, one leg left behind while the rest of her balanced precariously in her hoop. Aside from that, nobody managed even a semblance of Apparition, but Twycross was not discouraged.

"Never mind," he said. "Perhaps some of you will succeed next week. Until then, remember the three D's – Destination, Determination, Deliberation!"

"I think they should add 'dizzy' in there somewhere," Tracey muttered as they waited in the entrance hall while the Great Hall was reset for lunch.

"I agree," Blaise said as he massaged his temples. "And if I have to fall on my arse on that stone floor one more time…"

"You're not supposed to be falling on your arse at all," Tracey said with a snort.

"Yeah, well, I don't have the best balance, alright?"

"Oh, shut up, you two," Draco cut in. "You can worry about whether or not you're supposed to be falling on your arse next week – for now, let's eat." Harry and Hermione laughed while Blaise and Tracey looked sheepish, and the five friends hurried to their respective tables as soon as lunch was ready. They passed an enjoyable afternoon playing Exploding Snap before the Gryffindors headed out for Quidditch practice. Blaise and Tracey were going to the library to look for more information about marriage contracts, and Draco had another tutoring session with Nott – why his housemate wanted to study on a Saturday when they usually didn't work together on weekends was beyond him, but as all of his other friends were otherwise occupied, Draco didn't really have an excuse to say no. The study session went by quickly without any unwelcome interruptions, and once Nott had left, citing a meeting with Slughorn, Draco passed the remaining time until dinner immersed in a book Ginny had given him for Christmas.

During dinner, Blaise and Tracey told Draco about what they'd found in the library – it wasn't much, but they'd found one book in particular that would be a big help in translating all the legal terms for them. Draco agreed that this was definitely a step in the right direction, and he felt marginally better as he cut into his chicken. His peace was interrupted, however, by an all-too-familiar head of dark hair and a pug-like nose, which invaded his personal space with an angry hiss not five minutes later.

"What did you do to him?" Pansy demanded.

"What did I do to _who,_ Parkinson?" Draco asked, wasting no time in pushing her back to a more respectable distance.

"Theo," she replied. "Theo's in the hospital wing and I know he was with you right before he met with Slughorn."

"All we worked on today was Silencing Charms, and those aren't enough to land someone in the hospital wing," Draco said with a frown. "What's wrong with him?" Pansy's face was red with anger.

"He's been _poisoned,_ you stupid prat! And don't you _dare_ act like you don't know how it happened!"

* * *

**A/N: Well, well, well...sorry guys, the contract isn't going to resolve itself so easily! And what's the deal with Pansy's accusation? Hmm...**

**Thanks for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading!**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	18. Lots to Think About

"Pansy, could you please explain what the hell you're on about?" Draco demanded. He'd had more than enough of the girl's theatrics recently, and he really wanted to enjoy his dinner in peace. Pansy, however, had already ensured that _that_ wasn't going to happen, and she leaned closer once more and gave him her best glare.

"Don't play dumb, Draco, it doesn't suit you. You know _exactly _what I'm talking about, and you're going to explain. _Now."_

"For the last time, I honestly have no idea what you're-"

"Miss Parkinson, what is going on?" a smooth voice interrupted. The two Slytherins turned to face Professor Snape, who was glaring at them in a far more intimidating manner than Pansy could even hope to manage.

"Theodore Nott is in the hospital wing, Professor, and I have reason to believe that Draco Black is behind it," Pansy said haughtily as she crossed her arms over her chest and stuck her nose in the air. Snape's eyebrows raised infinitesimally, but otherwise his expression did not change.

"Both of you will come with me to the hospital wing, now," he said curtly after a moment. "And Miss Parkinson, ten points from Slytherin for causing such a ruckus during dinner." Pansy stared at her Head of House in shock and opened her mouth to protest.

"Professor, I didn't have anything to do with this!" Draco said almost angrily before Pansy could speak. He was tired, he was hungry, and now he was beyond irritated. Couldn't Pansy just shut the hell up and leave him alone?

"With me, Mr. Black," Snape replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. Draco growled in frustration and picked himself up off the bench, grabbing a dinner roll before following Snape and Pansy from the Great Hall. Blaise and Tracey followed them with their eyes, looking concerned, and Draco could only shake his head in response. They'd heard the entire exchange, of course, and they all knew it was rubbish, but now that Snape was involved, Draco had to do what he was told.

Neither student spoke as they made the trek up to the hospital wing – Draco knew that opening his mouth would lead to him exploding at Pansy, which wasn't a good idea with Snape in such close proximity, and Pansy…well, Draco wasn't really sure why she was keeping quiet, but he was glad for it, at any rate. Merlin only knew she'd have plenty to say when Snape asked for her version of things.

In the hospital wing, they found Madam Pomfrey bent over the prone body of Theodore Nott – so Pansy had at least been right that Nott was injured. How the poisoning accusation came into effect, however, Draco still wasn't sure.

"Madam Pomfrey," Snape greeted the matron with a nod. Madam Pomfrey responded in kind.

"Severus. I'm glad to see that Miss Parkinson was prompt in fetching you."

"Oh?" Snape said, turning to Pansy. "So you _were_ sent to the Great Hall, Miss Parkinson, but instead of fetching your Head of House, you chose to harass one of your classmates instead?" Pansy looked nervous and tried not to fidget.

"Sir, I-"

"Enough, Miss Parkinson," Snape snapped. "I will hear what each of you has to say, and I will decide how to proceed from there – doing so is not your job. I don't know what your motivation was, but I won't have students hurling accusations at each other, especially not towards those in their own house. That's another ten points you've lost." Draco felt a small sense of satisfaction as he watched Pansy hang her head in shame. Sure, she'd still ruined his dinner, but at least she'd been punished for it.

"Poppy, would you please enlighten us as to what happened?" Snape asked. Madam Pomfrey looked up from her examination of Nott and frowned.

"I'm afraid I don't know very much of it," she said. "Horace should be back shortly, however, and he should be able to tell us more." Snape nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer, and motioned for Draco and Pansy to sit down. It wasn't long before the door to the ward opened again, admitting Professor Slughorn, who was clutching a large bottle in his shaking hands.

"Merlin's beard!" he exclaimed, huffing from the effort of hauling his hefty weight up and down the stairs as many times as he had in the last half an hour. "What a disaster!" He paused and removed a large handkerchief from an inside pocket of his robes, wiping the cloth across his damp forehead.

"We're looking for an explanation sometime this evening, Horace," Snape said bluntly. Slughorn started a little, but he nodded and sank onto the nearest chair, which creaked under his bulk.

"Mr. Nott came to my office a short while ago requesting leave to make a special trip home for his birthday this weekend," he explained. "I told him I wasn't sure if that would be permissible – I told him I would have to consult with Dumbledore, actually – but in light of the birthday in question being the boy's seventeenth, I offered him a celebratory toast, which he accepted. Next thing I knew, he was convulsing on the floor and was blue in the face – it was lucky I had a bezoar in my office, or he very well could have died." Pansy gave a dramatic little gasp at Slughorn's final pronouncement, but a look from Snape silenced her before she could speak further.

"What exactly is in that bottle, and where did you acquire it?" Snape asked.

"Well, it's a bottle of Rosmerta's finest mead, isn't it? Delightful stuff, it really is – when it hasn't been tampered with, that is."

"Have you identified the poison?" Snape questioned.

"Not yet, no – I was a bit preoccupied with getting young Mr. Nott to Poppy as soon as I could, wasn't I? Besides, I was hoping you could take a look at it anyway, Severus – your skills in identifying poisons are second to none, are they not?"

"Very well." Snape accepted the bottle gingerly and sniffed the mouth of it. "Obviously something odorless, as all I smell is mead. I will have to take this with me to test it properly. Poppy, is Mr. Nott stable?"

"He's fine now," Madam Pomfrey replied. "The bezoar did exactly what it was supposed to do – he's very much drained of energy but otherwise healthy. Barring any unusual results in the diagnostics later, he should be cleared for release in the morning."

"I don't quite understand what these two are doing here," Slughorn said, nodding towards Draco and Pansy.

"Miss Parkinson seems to think that Mr. Black was somehow involved in this little incident," Snape said. "Would you care to explain, Miss Parkinson?" All three adults looked expectantly at the dark-haired girl, who looked suddenly uncertain and nervous under all the scrutiny.

"Well…Draco was the last person I knew Theo had seen before he went to meet with Slughorn," Pansy attempted.

"And what happened when they saw each other last?" Snape continued.

"We were studying for our upcoming Charms exam," Draco replied, barely refraining from rolling his eyes. "Silencing Charms – that's what we reviewed today."

"And did Mr. Nott seem out of sorts when he left your presence, Mr. Black?" Snape asked.

"No!" Draco cried exasperatedly. "For the last time, I studied with Nott for an hour at most, and that was it! We went our separate ways afterwards, and that was the last I heard from him until Parkinson got in my face during dinner! So unless you're suggesting that I somehow _planted_ the poisoned mead-"

"And why is that so impossible?" Pansy sneered. "We both know you're good at Potions; you could've easily looked up odorless poisons that dissolve in liquid…"

"Miss Parkinson, hold your tongue!" Snape demanded. "That is quite enough from you. Both of you, out!" The two Slytherins hurried to obey and soon reached the main staircase, where Draco made his way upstairs to the Room of Requirement while Pansy headed back down to the dungeons.

Draco used the solitary walk to the seventh floor to think about what had just transpired. For a Slytherin, Slughorn certainly offered up a lot of information – Draco now knew quite a bit more than he probably should about the situation, and it gave him a lot to think about. Who had poisoned the mead? What poison had they used? Obviously it was something that could be counteracted by a bezoar, but since bezoars were effective against all but a small handful of extremely rare poisons, that didn't narrow it down much. What was the motive – had Slughorn even been the intended target? And arguably the most important question of them all – why was Nott so adamant about going home? Draco knew that things like birthdays, even milestone ones, weren't enough to get you leave to go home on a random weekend in the middle of term – he doubted that even Harry could have gotten such a pass, had his birthday been during the school year. No, there was a reason that Nott was trying to go home, and Draco was determined to find out what it was.

* * *

The weeks leading up to the Easter holidays were largely uneventful. Harry successfully managed to Apparate during their lesson in the first week of March, and Hermione created a weak but passable string of false memories in an Occlumency session not long after that. Ravenclaw faced Hufflepuff in the last Quidditch match of the term, and the D.A. staged another mock duel that left them all sweaty and tired but ultimately satisfied. A few days before the holidays began, Harry received another missive from Dumbledore, the note requesting that all six teenagers meet in his office that evening. Though they all had plenty of homework, they knew that these meetings were extremely important, and so they all met at the gargoyle promptly at eight o'clock.

"Good evening," Dumbledore said, welcoming them into his office and bringing forth their usual armchairs. He conjured up a tea tray and motioned for them to help themselves, then said, "My reasons for asking you here tonight are twofold. Firstly, I would like to hear if you've made any progress with the contract, and secondly, I need to speak to these four" – he gestured to the Gryffindors plus Draco – "about the prophecy." Neither Blaise nor Tracey questioned the second piece of Dumbledore's agenda – they were well aware of their friends' meetings concerning the prophecy and knew that the information exchanged was highly sensitive in nature.

"Nothing new regarding the contract, I'm afraid," Blaise began. "We found a law book in the library that's been immensely helpful in translating some of the more obscure legal text, but the contract itself is fairly straightforward, and we haven't been able to find a loophole as of yet."

"I've been thinking that we might need to take a second look around my house," Tracey added. "The contract itself isn't giving us the answers we need, and I have a feeling that my house is the next best place to try."

"You must be careful, Miss Davis," Dumbledore cautioned. "You already told us that it was your father who petitioned for the arrangement, and as a result, he's likely going to want to keep that alliance at all costs."

"Oh, I don't plan on asking him about it directly unless I have to," Tracey said immediately. "If there is anything in the house that might help me break the contract and my father gets wind of what I'm trying to do, he'll just make sure that I never find what I'm looking for."

"I think somebody should go with you, Trace," Harry said. "This sounds like it could potentially be dangerous, and two heads are better than one, anyway."

"But who's going to go?" Hermione argued. "Yes, two heads are better than one, but wouldn't that make Mr. Davis even more suspicious? It would look rather odd if someone he barely even knew was seen searching through his house for something."

"No offense, Harry, but my father's not about to let a Gryffindor into the house anytime soon," Tracey said with an apologetic glance. "And even if you weren't Gryffindors, you're all too recognizable – Harry and Hermione have featured in the papers too many times for my father not to know who you are, and Ginny has the unmistakable Weasley red hair."

"I can't go, either," Blaise said. "Tracey's father doesn't know who I am, since we always met up somewhere outside of our homes during the holidays, but what could be more suspicious than an engaged woman having another man in her house?" His tone was slightly bitter, and they didn't blame him in the slightest. Just as with Draco and Hermione, Blaise and Tracey didn't openly show their affection – relationships could easily be weaknesses used against you, especially in Slytherin – but the friends still knew that Blaise cared for Tracey deeply and wanted nothing more than to help her out of this horrible predicament. The fact that he could essentially do nothing was obviously getting to him.

"I could go," Draco said suddenly, looking as if everything had unexpectedly fallen into place. "I could go, and it wouldn't look suspicious at all – if we're betrothed, wouldn't it make sense for me to visit with the intent of a proper introduction? Your father couldn't possibly begrudge you spending time with your supposed fiancé, could he?"

"Draco, that's it!" Tracey exclaimed. "Father wouldn't question your presence at all – in fact, he'd probably be thrilled." She paused and frowned. "But that means taking time out of your holidays – are you sure you want to do that?"

"Trace, even if neither of us wants this engagement, you're still my friend," Draco said. "If it means finding what we need to break the contract, I'll gladly take a day or two out of my holidays to do so."

"It sounds like you have a plan, then," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Miss Davis, I might suggest sending Mr. Black a Portkey to your home, as neither of you have yet passed your Apparition tests."

"I think I could do that," Tracey agreed.

"Splendid. I truly do hope that you find what you're looking for. Now, Miss Davis and Mr. Zabini, unless you had anything further you wished to discuss, you may return to your common room."

"I think that's everything, sir," Blaise said. "Thank you for all your help."

"Hardly help, my dear boy. Just a spot of guidance – the credit for the hard work goes to all of you." Nevertheless, Blaise thanked the headmaster again before he and Tracey bid their friends goodnight and left the office.

"Now, I do believe it's been some time since we last discussed our friend Tom Riddle," Dumbledore said once he had the remaining teenagers' undivided attention. "We have so far only seen Bob Ogden's memory, in which we met Riddle's maternal family, such as they were. I would like to show you a few more memories this evening, memories which, I think, will prove extremely important in our understanding of Voldemort and what to do next."

"Whose memories are we seeing tonight, Professor?" Harry asked.

"The first memory is my own," Dumbledore replied. "It is the memory of the day I first met Tom Riddle, the day he first found out he was a wizard." Dumbledore removed the Pensieve from its cabinet and added the proper vial of silvery thoughts.

"In we go." In the blink of an eye, the group found themselves standing on the pavement outside a nondescript orphanage. Before them stood a much younger Dumbledore, and the teenagers had to cover their mouths to hide their snickers at his flamboyantly cut purple suit.

"I'd quite forgotten about that suit," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "Welcome to 1930s London. Follow me, please." They all climbed the building's front steps, where the younger Dumbledore was already being ushered inside by a skinny girl in an apron. The orphanage itself was clean but very shabby, and they found memory-Dumbledore speaking to the matron of the establishment, whom he addressed as Mrs. Cole. Mrs. Cole talked at length about the boy called Tom Riddle – he was a rather odd boy, she said, and he often did things that frightened the other children – and then finally led Dumbledore upstairs, where she left him outside the first of many doors on the second landing.

There was no mistaking who the room's occupant was – even if they hadn't already seen a slightly older version of him in the enchanted diary, this boy's resemblance to Tom Riddle Senior was almost uncanny. His features were no less handsome at eleven than they'd seen him at seventeen, his dark hair was impeccably combed, and even though he sat on his bed, they could tell he was tall for his age. Tom looked up when Dumbledore entered, suspicion evident on his face.

To an unsuspecting Muggle, the ensuing conversation would have made almost no sense at all, but to Harry and his friends, it was more than a little unnerving. The young Riddle spoke with a haughty, almost commanding tone, yet he seemed to know precisely how to change his mannerisms and speech to get Dumbledore to do exactly as he wanted. He spoke almost excitedly about the things he was able to do, his 'special abilities', which, to Harry's horror, included making others hurt if they annoyed him and controlling animals' actions with his thoughts – at the tender age of eleven, Tom Riddle's magic was manifesting itself in versions of the Unforgivable curses. Tom also revealed that he could speak to snakes, and there was no mistaking the gleam in the boy's eyes when Dumbledore said this was an unusual ability – clearly, Tom liked the idea of having something that distinguished him even from his fellow wizards.

Harry continued to listen as Dumbledore demonstrated magic for the enraptured youth, then thoroughly chastised him for stealing from the other orphans and insisted that he return the items at once. Hogwarts, Dumbledore said, not only taught its students how to do magic, but also how to control it, and that all pupils – Tom himself included – had to accept the Wizarding world's laws or face expulsion should they use their magic in improper or illegal ways. After giving Tom directions to the Leaky Cauldron – at Tom's insistence; he made it very clear that he neither wanted nor needed Dumbledore's assistance even with acquiring his school things – Dumbledore pulled Harry and his friends from the memory.

"What did you take from that memory?" Dumbledore asked them.

"Riddle liked the fact that he was special," Hermione said at once. "He positively lit up when you told him what he could do was magic – that gave him something his fellow orphans didn't have – and when you mentioned that being a Parselmouth is unusual, that differentiated him from even his fellow wizards."

"Very good," Dumbledore said with a nod. "Voldemort does indeed prefer to keep himself on a pedestal independent of other people – he always has. Those he was close with in school were far more followers than friends – I don't think he ever had a true 'friend', nor did he want one, as he viewed any sort of dependence on others as a weakness. No matter how many Death Eaters there are, we must always remember that Voldemort ultimately operates alone – only he knows the full extent of his plans."

"Which is definitely a weakness, I think," Harry said. "He might think it important to keep his cards close to his chest, but how does he know that his followers are truly loyal if they don't know all that he plans to do?"

"Oh, they know the basic idea," Dumbledore assured him. "But you're right, Harry – that lack of communication definitely has the potential to cause a lot of problems, especially when we're talking about individuals as ruthless as the Death Eaters, many of whom have their own selfish and sinister reasons for joining."

"And what about that box of things he stole from the other orphans?" Ginny asked. "You made quite a big deal about that one in the memory, sir."

"I did indeed, Miss Weasley, and I am very glad you mentioned it. That portion of the conversation shows us that even as a child, Voldemort liked to collect trophies, little tokens that he'd taken from the victims of his bullying. Please keep this information in mind as I show you these last two memories." He emptied a second vial's contents into the Pensieve, and in they went.

The second memory was extremely short, and judging by Voldemort's slightly older appearance, looked to take place roughly five years after the first one. The group found themselves back in the Gaunt shack, which was even filthier and more dilapidated than before, and they listened as Voldemort conversed with his uncle Morfin, Dumbledore's translation charms allowing them to understand the Parseltongue. Having never seen his nephew before, Morfin initially mistook him for Tom Riddle Senior – when Voldemort demanded to know what he was talking about, Morfin explained all he knew about the 'filthy Muggle' from the big house on the hill and how Merope had run off with him.

"Where's the locket?" Morfin demanded. "Where's Slytherin's locket?" He brandished his fist as he spoke, and they could all clearly see the ugly old ring that had once belonged to Marvolo resting on one of his large fingers. The memory ended rather abruptly after that, and the viewers were almost forcibly ejected from the Pensieve.

"What happened?" Harry asked as he grabbed the nearest chair for support.

"The memory was tampered with," Dumbledore explained. "Thanks to a powerful Memory Charm, Morfin could no longer recall what happened afterwards. Armed with the newfound knowledge of the 'big house on the hill', Voldemort Stunned his uncle, stole his wand, and used it to murder all three remaining members of the Riddle family – his father, of course, and his paternal grandparents. He then returned to the shack, modified Morfin's memory so that Morfin thought _he'd_ committed the murder, stole his ring, and left. When the authorities arrived, Morfin readily confessed to the crime, his wand collaborating his tale, and was carted off to Azkaban. I uncovered the truth when I was granted a visit with Morfin some years ago, but he died in prison before anything could be done about it."

"And it seems Voldemort's thieving tendencies hadn't stopped after all," Draco pointed out. "You said he took his uncle's ring right after he murdered his father's family."

"Very good, Mr. Black. Keep that in mind as we view this last memory, please."

The final memory featured a man they all knew well, though his past version was neither quite so round nor quite so bald – Professor Slughorn was holding court in his office, a group of older Slytherin boys gathered around him on cushions or little chairs. They discussed a number of inconsequential things, from Slughorn's love of crystallized pineapple to the rumors of another professor's impending retirement, but it was the moments when the memory went fuzzy that interested them the most – it seemed that this memory had been tampered with as well.

"Here is where you need to pay attention," Dumbledore said quietly as all of the boys except Voldemort rose to leave. As soon as his classmates were gone, Voldemort spoke.

"Professor, what do you know of Horcruxes?"

Immediately following this came a blur so thick it was like bad static on a radio or a television – hearing any part of Slughorn's response was next to impossible. In fact, they only heard one other phrase at all, and it came from Voldemort: "For instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven-" Whatever came after that was a mystery, as the memory immediately came to a halt.

"Professor, what's a Horcrux?" Ginny asked as they all took their seats once more. "And why was that memory such a mess?"

"I believe that Professor Slughorn was ashamed to reveal the real memory and deliberately altered it to show himself in a better light," Dumbledore explained. "It doesn't much matter, as what little we saw told us what we needed to know. As for what a Horcrux is, it is Dark magic, very Dark indeed. A Horcrux is an object that stores a piece of your soul, independent from the rest of it."

"A piece of your _soul?"_ Harry repeated, looking shocked. "But…why would you ever need to split your soul?"

"Do you recall what was kept at Hogwarts during your first year here, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"The philosopher's stone," Harry said immediately.

"And what could the philosopher's stone do?"

"Provide the owner with unlimited riches and immortality."

"The unicorn," Draco said at once. "There was a unicorn killed in the forest just before we went after the stone, remember? Unicorn blood is used in longevity potions, Dark ones."

"You really did do your research, didn't you?" Dumbledore said with an amused look. "Yes, it is the longevity and immortality aspect we should examine here – if you'll recall from my conversation with the young Voldemort in the orphanage, he initially thought his magical blood came from his father's side, as his mother had so easily succumbed to the 'weakness' that is death."

"And so Voldemort's after immortality," Hermione said with a shudder. "What does that have to do with Horcruxes?"

"Everything, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied. "You see, so long as a piece of your soul lives, you cannot truly die. And so, if Voldemort had a Horcrux…"

"He could be resurrected, even if his body had been killed," Harry concluded.

"Precisely."

"And how exactly does one create a Horcrux?" Ginny asked.

"The splitting of one's soul is no simple thing, and it cannot be done by the pure of heart," Dumbledore explained. "You see, the quickest way to split your soul – a very unnatural thing to do – is to commit murder, the darkest act of them all."

"But Voldemort's murdered dozens, if not hundreds of people," Harry protested. "How are we to know that he didn't make more than one Horcrux?"

"An excellent observation, Harry!" Dumbledore said approvingly. "You see, I do believe we have proof that he _did_ make more than one Horcrux."

"And what's that?"

"The diary, of course, the one that you destroyed in the Chamber of Secrets."

"You think that was a Horcrux?" Ginny asked.

"I am almost positive it was so," Dumbledore said. "Creating a Horcrux is no easy feat on its own, and of course Voldemort would have done so with the intention of _protecting_ the soul fragment inside – why, then, did he choose a vessel that was clearly _meant_ to be found by someone else? Voldemort wanted someone to find and use that diary to finish what he'd started with the Chamber of Secrets, and yet he chose a precious fragment of his own soul as the means of controlling it. Had his plan succeeded, of course, that fragment of soul would have been reborn when it took the remainder of Mr. Weasley's life force, but it failed, and the diary was destroyed."

"The soul bit as well?" Draco questioned.

"Given Harry's explanation of what happened when he stabbed the diary, I would say yes," Dumbledore said. "That particular Horcrux is well and truly gone."

"And so you think Voldemort made at least one other to make up for the fact that the diary's first purpose was as something else," Hermione said.

"The ring," Harry said at once. "Voldemort stole his uncle's ring, didn't he? And he killed his Muggle relatives right after – who's to say he didn't make the ring a Horcrux, as a symbol of besting his 'filthy Muggle father'?"

"And what about the locket?" Draco added. "You never did say what happened to the locket, Professor."

"Once again, I believe you both have the right idea," Dumbledore said. "The evidence supporting the ring's transformation into a Horcrux is strong. As for the locket, Merope sold it in desperation not long before she died – where it is now, I don't know, but I'm sure that Voldemort went searching for it when he learned it was a Slytherin heirloom."

"So he likes important things," Ginny said. "The diary was important because it contained the key to the Chamber of Secrets, and the ring and the locket are both family heirlooms – _Wizarding _family heirlooms."

"Astute as always, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore beamed. "If there are others, what they are remains to be seen, but we can safely guess that they are artifacts of equal importance."

"Six," Harry said suddenly, his eyes wide with revelation.

"Sorry?" Dumbledore asked.

"The prophecy – the first line of the prophecy," Harry said. "'Three join four when six are gone' – we already know the 'four' refers to the rings, and though we don't know the 'three' or the 'six', I think the 'six' refers to the Horcruxes – after all, six Horcruxes plus Voldemort himself, assuming there's any soul left in him, makes seven fragments of soul, and didn't he mention seven in that last memory?"

"He did – he said that seven is the most powerfully magical number," Hermione said, looking excited.

"And he would want to prove himself more magically powerful than anyone," Ginny concluded.

"Assuming we're right, that leaves us with three Horcruxes that we have no idea what they are," Draco said with a frown. "And that's also assuming that our guesses for the first three are correct."

"At least we're on the right track," Hermione said soothingly. "Professor, you'll keep us informed if you learn anything further?"

"Of course, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied. "After all, if we're correct about what Voldemort has done, then finding these Horcruxes is critical to our success. Until the Horcruxes are destroyed, Voldemort himself cannot die. It is a lot to take in, of course, but I will continue to research and hunt for more memories that might give us more clues. In the meantime, as much as I'm sure you'd all like to continue discussing this, I must insist that you all return to your common rooms – it is long past curfew, and I know you still have things to do before the holidays. Think on what you've learned, but don't fret – though it may not seem like it, we've made a great deal of progress tonight, and I truly believe we can only go forward from here."

* * *

**A/N: Hot damn - I don't think I've written a chapter this long since the Yule Ball! (Lulu, this one's for you. You're welcome.) I did take a few quotes directly from HBP, so credit to JKR for those. Next chapter, we go to Tracey's house - what will we find there? Hmm...**

**Thank you for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading!**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	19. Playing Detective

The last few days of the term passed quickly, and the friends were soon on board the Hogwarts Express once more. They spent the first part of the journey discussing logistics for Draco's visit to Tracey's house - Tracey would have to talk to her father, but she would try to get Draco a Portkey as soon as possible so that they had time to get everything done. They couldn't guarantee that they'd find what they needed in one afternoon, and if they had to make any side trips - to the Ministry, for instance - they needed time to take care of everything before they had to return to school.

Hermione was unusually quiet during the whole discussion, opting to sit in the corner and listen instead of actively contributing. Draco could tell something was bothering her and had a feeling he knew what it was. He shot her a concerned look, but she gave her head a quick jerk to the side.

_"Not here,"_ her eyes said. _"Not now."_

As soon as he could, Draco excused himself and Hermione and pulled her from their compartment into the empty one next to it.

"You know I don't want this," he said quietly. Hermione sighed and sank onto the closest seat.

"Of course I do," she said. "I've never doubted that. You've been working just as hard as any of us to find a way around this. But it's like Blaise said – magical contracts aren't meant to be broken. They're written so carefully so as to close all possible loopholes. We can cross our fingers all we want that we'll find a way out, but what if this contract really is unbreakable?" She took advantage of their still linked hands to pull him down next to her. "We've thrown ourselves wholeheartedly into the research side of it, but you and I haven't really talked about the fact that we're facing a _betrothal_ here."

"You have no idea how much I hate that my father took that choice away from me," Draco replied. "He signed away my life when I could barely talk, and I hate the strain it's causing us because we haven't found a way around it." He sighed and squeezed her fingers. "Tracey is a good friend, she really is, but I could never marry her. Even if I wasn't already with you, I couldn't do that to her. Wizarding marriages are for life, and while we might've grown to care for one another, there would always be that 'what if' hanging over our heads. No, I couldn't do that to her – I can't, nor can I do that to Blaise, or to you." He moved one of this hands to her face, his thumb gently caressing her cheekbone.

"I've loved you since we were seven years old, Lotte, even if I didn't realize it or have the guts to tell you until we were fourteen," he said softly. "Magically binding contract or not, I can't be with anyone else - I just can't. And I promise you, I _will_ find a way to break the agreement – you know I will. I'll force it if we can't find another way, I'll offer Tracey's father my entire Gringotts vault if that's what it takes."

"A very Gryffindor approach, going in with wands blazing," Hermione said, smiling slightly in spite of herself.

"I prefer to look at it as the very Slytherin solution of doing whatever it takes to reach your goals," Draco replied. "And my goal is to be with you. I hate that I have to make it a goal at all, but it is what it is."

"I just feel so helpless," Hermione whispered, a lone tear slipping from her eye and down her face, where it caught on Draco's thumb. "You know how much I hate not being able to find the answers, and this is so much more important than an Arithmancy solution or a counter-charm - four people's lives will change against their will if we fail."

"Where's that Gryffindor bravery, Hermione?" Draco admonished her gently. "No more thinking like that - we've gotten through seemingly impossible obstacles before, and we can do it again."

"I'm trying to stay positive, I really am," Hermione promised. "It's just hard. I'll feel better when we find something concrete."

"That's my girl," Draco said fondly. Hermione looked confused.

"What did I say?" she asked.

"You said _when_ we find something concrete, not _if,"_ he replied. "Your subconscious is already thinking positive." He sat back against the bench and pulled her close, bringing her head down to rest on his shoulder.

"Always forgiven," Hermione whispered. Draco smiled softly.

"Always forgiven."

They stayed in the compartment for another fifteen minutes, neither talking nor moving but merely enjoying the comfort of each others' presence. Just before returning to their friends, they used their last moments alone to exchange a soft kiss, a kiss full of promise and resolve with their eyes saying what words never really could, and neither spoke on the way back to their compartment.

"You two alright?" Harry asked as Draco slid open the door and stepped inside, Hermione close behind. The couple exchanged soft smiles, which were small but genuine. Draco's answer was a truthful one.

"Yes," he replied. "Yes, we are."

* * *

Tracey's father was apparently delighted at the thought of his daughter's betrothed paying them a visit over the holidays, and as such, Tracey was able to send Draco a Portkey the very next morning. The Portkey was set for the second day of their holidays, and Harry, Draco, Hermione, and Ginny, all of whom were staying at Grimmauld Place, took advantage of the day in between to go over the plan once more. They also spent a little bit of time talking about the Horcruxes, but as they didn't have too much to go on besides what Dumbledore had told them and had to be careful lest anyone else overhear, that conversation didn't last long. After dinner, they spent several hours playing Exploding Snap and chatting with Tonks, who'd dropped by to speak to Mr. Weasley about an Order mission and was thrilled at the chance to catch up with her cousin and his friends. Tonks promised to stop by again before their holidays ended, and the friends went to bed in high spirits despite their nervous anticipation of the following day's events.

At precisely ten o'clock the next morning, Draco's Portkey took him to Tracey's home. The building itself was far smaller than Malfoy Manor - it was a large house, but not what one could call an estate - but it was tastefully designed and sat on several acres of immaculately kept lawns, with beds of colorful flowers adding a welcoming air to the front of the house. A house-elf answered the door when Draco rang the bell and showed him into the sitting room, where a tea service sat waiting.

"Master and Miss is being here shortly," the elf said in a squeaky voice, and it bowed low before scampering from the room, leaving Draco alone. He didn't have long to wait, however, before the door opened again, admitting Tracey and a man Draco guessed must be her father.

"Draco Malfoy, I presume?" the man said. "Yes, you look just like your father. Beauregard Davis III." He held out his hand, which Draco shook.

"Pleasure to meet you, sir," Draco replied, remembering his manners even though he was inwardly reeling at the other man's pomposity. "Although it's Draco Black, if you don't mind - I adopted my mother's maiden name as a child and have used it ever since."

"Hmm," said Mr. Davis, frowning slightly. "You'll be retaking your birth name when you come of age, yes?"

"I don't think so, no," Draco answered smoothly. When they'd talked yesterday, Tracey had said it was best to be as honest as possible - maybe they'd get lucky and Mr. Davis would be displeased enough by Draco's answers to break the engagement that way. "The Malfoy name doesn't exactly project the image I'd like to show the Wizarding world, if you get what I mean." Draco then turned to Tracey.

"Tracey, it's lovely to see you again," he said, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles as was proper. They both thought the gesture was ridiculous - Draco had only ever kissed Ginny's hand before, and that was more to make her laugh than anything else - but they figured Mr. Davis would frown upon a hug or other openly friendly greeting, no matter how much more comfortable it would've made them. Being honest with their words was one thing, but blatantly disregarding the expected motions was another. No, they were going to behave like proper pureblooded children and stick to tradition while they had to, then drop all pretenses as soon as they were alone.

"Tea, Mr. Black?" Tracey's father asked.

"No, thank you, sir," Draco replied. "I'm still rather full from breakfast, I'm afraid." Tea would prolong the time he and Tracey were forced to spend in her father's presence, and Tracey had also warned him that her father was not above slipping truth serums or other such things into his guests' drinks. Better not to risk it.

"Perhaps I might show Draco around the house, Father?" Tracey interjected smoothly. "After all, if we're to be married, wouldn't it be best if we got to know one another a little better? Sharing classes doesn't leave much time for socializing." Draco had to hand it to Tracey - as much as she hated the idea of sucking up to her father, she was playing her part beautifully.

"Yes, yes, very well," Mr. Davis said, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. "I must insist that you join us for lunch, then, promptly at noon."

"Yes, sir," Tracey replied. Draco offered her his arm, knowing the gesture would look good, and the two teenagers left the room as quickly as they could without rousing suspicion.

"Nice thinking in there, Trace," Draco said under his breath as Tracey led him to the main staircase. "Your dad's a tough one – 'Beauregard Davis III', seriously?"

"I wasn't exactly exaggerating," Tracey muttered back. "And believe it or not, it's actually _Maximilian _Beauregard Davis III – the air of self-importance was definitely hereditary in his case." They snickered and climbed the stairs, at the top of which hung a large painting of four people.

"Family portrait?" Draco asked as he studied it. The portrait was of Tracey, her father, and a dark-haired woman and boy, whom Draco assumed to be Tracey's mother and brother. The boy looked to be approximately ten years old.

"Taken in fourth year, yes," Tracey replied. "Me, my father, Carina, and Benjamin. He's a second-year now."

"Carina?" Draco questioned. Tracey shrugged.

"She doesn't like being called Mother, or anything like that," she said. "Benjamin used to be able to get away with it sometimes when he was younger, but he doesn't really do it much anymore, and she's always corrected me - not that I ever did it much in the first place. Easier to just comply, she's rather strict."

"Tracey, you didn't tell me we had guests," a cool voice said. The teenagers turned to see the living counterpart of the dark-haired woman in the portrait, who was wearing flowing green robes and a disdainful expression.

"Carina," Tracey replied, nodding her head ever so slightly. "This is my intended, Draco Black."

"A pleasure," Carina said, though the sentiment didn't reach her eyes, which were as dark as her hair and very cold. "See that you're on time for lunch, Tracey, and don't go causing any trouble."

"Yes, Carina," Tracey promised. Draco swore he actually heard the woman sniff as she marched stiffly down the corridor and out of sight.

"Trace?" he asked. "Is there somewhere we could talk privately? I wanted to ask you something."

"Outside," Tracey said at once. "It's the only place we can guarantee we won't be overheard." Curious as to what Draco had to say, she wasted no time hurrying back downstairs and out the front door, and the two friends commenced a walk around the grounds.

"What did you want to ask me, Draco?" Tracey asked when they'd been walking for a few minutes.

"That portrait left me a little confused," Draco said. "Have you never noticed that you look absolutely nothing like your mother?"

"I know I don't," Tracey replied. "And I don't think she's actually my mother, either." Draco stopped walking and looked at her.

"What?" he asked, looking shocked. Tracey rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Drake," she said. "I'm not stupid. Of course I've noticed that I look nothing like Carina, and while I share some features with my father, there are too many left unexplained - my eyes, for instance, or my hair. They're both rather unusual, and while I don't really know much about genetics, I know enough to know that distinctive characteristics like that don't just come out of nowhere." Draco had to agree – Tracey's hair was a unique shade of caramel, and he'd never met anyone else with her eyes, which were a very light, almost yellow-green color.

"Well no, of course not," he said quickly. "When I was at Malfoy Manor last summer, I could definitely tell from their portraits which features I'd inherited from my mother versus my father. But what do you mean you don't 'think' Carina's actually your mother?"

"I meant exactly what I said - I don't think she is," Tracey said. "I've never actually heard it straight from my father's mouth, but he and Carina didn't marry until 1982, and you heard what Blaise said about purebloods keeping mistresses - bastard children complicate things immensely because they can't inherit, so purebloods are always careful to make sure they only have children by their spouse. But I was born in 1979, so how do I fit in?"

"Were _you_ born out of wedlock, then?" Draco wondered. Tracey shrugged.

"I have no idea – honestly, I don't think I'd really care, if it meant I knew who my mother was. Your father accepted my father's proposal of a marriage contract, though, and I highly doubt someone so obsessed with bloodlines as Lucius Malfoy would have okayed a union between his heir and an illegitimate child."

"Very true," Draco said. "The Malfoys definitely prided themselves on their blood status - only a proper pureblood girl would have been acceptable. But I think we need to look into finding out who your real mother was - if nothing else, you deserve to know the truth."

"It would be nice to know," Tracey agreed. "My father forbade me from asking questions about my looks a long time ago - and honestly, you've met my father; in cases like that, it's so much easier to just go along with what he wants - and there are no photos of anyone other than the four of us in the house. I don't remember another woman in my life - I was barely two years old when Father and Carina married - but I know that Carina has _never_ treated me like a daughter. We're civil to each other, but that's about it - and she absolutely fawns over Benjamin when she thinks no one's looking, so she definitely has the capacity to be warmer than she usually acts."

"So let's do something about it," Draco urged. "Your father didn't object to leaving us alone, so I don't think he'll object if I ask to take you out for the day - we'll call it a formal outing if we have to."

"When, today?" Tracey asked. "Both my father and Carina have already insisted on us joining them for lunch - I don't know if we could turn them down again without one of them getting angry. And where exactly are we going?"

"We'll go tomorrow - I'll ask for their permission at lunch today, and I can't imagine they'd say no. I'll just say I'm taking you out in London - that's a good place to take your fiancé, right? I'm thinking we need to start wherever they house birth records, which is probably either St. Mungo's or the Ministry. I'll ask Padfoot tonight."

"I can't believe we're actually doing this!" Tracey said, and though she sounded a little apprehensive, she also sounded excited. "It's like we're solving a crime or something."

"Not quite a crime, but we're solving a case nonetheless – the case of Tracey Davis' identity," Draco replied with a grin. "Now, let's go back inside and act like proper purebloods so we can get what we want."

* * *

The rest of Draco's visit passed almost painfully slowly, but the teenagers obtained permission for Draco to take Tracey out the following day – neither mentioned exactly _where_ in London they intended to go, or that they most likely wouldn't be going alone, but Tracey's father didn't need to know _that_, of course. Draco promised to send Tracey a Portkey that evening, and he returned to London in high spirits. Sirius created the Portkey as soon as Draco had told everyone what had happened, and they sent it off without a second thought. The teenagers went to bed late that night, all of them preoccupied by Draco's tale and what it possibly meant for Tracey.

Tracey arrived mid-morning the next day, and Draco went outside to meet her and let her in on the secret of Grimmauld Place. As Draco's guardian, Sirius was going with them, along with Mr. Weasley in case they required Ministry access or aid – although the others desperately wanted to come along too, the fact that none of them could Apparate yet made things too complicated, and so they resigned themselves to meeting up for a late lunch in Diagon Alley. Tracey asked that they pass along the invitation to Blaise, and the quartet left the safety of the house and Disapparated.

Their first stop was St. Mungo's, which was responsible for keeping records of all of Wizarding Britain's citizens, including birth certificates for those who'd been born in that hospital. Tracey wasn't sure if she'd been born there or not, but if she had, her birth certificate would give them her mother's name, and that would be a huge help.

"Excuse me," said Mr. Weasley pleasantly to the person on duty at the welcome desk. "We'd like to speak to someone in records, please."

"Your business there?" The staff member was a young girl, in her early twenties by the looks of her, and she both looked and sounded extremely bored.

"This young lady would like a copy of her birth certificate," Mr. Weasley replied, unfazed by the girl's borderline rude response. "She recently turned seventeen and has decided she would like to have such things for her records." It was a bit of a fib, but it was definitely a believable excuse, and the girl asked Mr. Weasley to wait while she sent a message down to records asking if they had a moment to see them. The affirmative memo returned shortly thereafter, and the girl pointed towards the lifts and gave them directions.

St. Mungo's housed their records in the basement beneath the hospital, though the storage space was as bright and clean as the medical floors above. A second witch met them in the records room – she had curly, dark red hair tied back in a long ponytail, and she held out her hand for a firm handshake.

"Alexandra Wright," she said. "I'm in charge of this place. I understand one of you is looking for a birth certificate?"

"That's me," Tracey replied a little nervously. "I'm afraid I'm not entirely sure if I was born here or not, however."

"Not a problem," Alexandra said. "We can find that out easily enough. Name and date of birth, please?"

"Tracey Renee Davis, born the first of December, 1979," Tracey said promptly. Alexandra was already halfway to a section of files they guessed contained the birth records. They were neatly labeled in chronological order, and Alexandra unlocked the files for the specified year, waved her wand, and muttered an incantation they couldn't hear. One of the files lit up with a bright pink glow, and Alexandra nodded.

"You were indeed born here at St. Mungo's, Miss Davis," she said as she extracted the file. "Right on time, and healthy as can be." Another wave of her wand, and she held a copy of the birth certificate, which she handed to Tracey, who tried not to look overly eager as she accepted it.

"Thank you," Tracey said. "Thank you very much."

"Anything else I can help you with today?" Alexandra asked. Tracey looked up from the certificate, which she was studying intently.

"Yes, actually," she replied. "My mother – could you tell me if she was born here?"

"Do you know her birth date?" Alexandra asked. Tracey shook her head.

"No, I don't – I've only just found out her name, actually," she admitted.

"Not the first time I've come across such a thing," Alexandra said. "The spell for records without a birth date is a bit more complicated, but it's still doable – what's your mother's name?"

"Marianne Christina Gardner, before she married," Tracey replied, reading from the certificate. Alexandra performed a series of spells, but no glow came from anywhere in the birth records, and she got the same results from several other attempts.

"I'm sorry," she finally concluded. "I think you can guess from the lack of response that your mother wasn't born here."

"No matter," Tracey said. "Just giving us the name has been a big help, thank you." Alexandra smiled.

"Of course. If you find you need anything else besides the birth certificate, just come back."

After St. Mungo's, the group stopped at the Ministry of Magic's records department. What they learned there was arguably even more interesting than Tracey's mother's name – as the information they sought was public record, it was very easy to obtain copies of Tracey's parents' marriage certificate, which gave them the names of Tracey's maternal grandparents. Just to be sure that Tracey had her facts straight, they also requested a copy of the marriage certificate between Tracey's father and Carina.

"I'm really curious as to what happened here," Draco muttered as he studied the two certificates. "Your father's first marriage was dissolved in late 1981" – he pointed to the first certificate, which did indeed have an additional sheet of parchment attached detailing the termination of the marriage – "and he was remarried less than six months later. I think we're missing something important."

"Yes – we don't know _why_ the first marriage was ended," Tracey said. "It must have been something big, for my father to never even mention my real mother to me, but what was it?"

"Might I make a suggestion, Miss Davis?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"Of course – and please, call me Tracey," Tracey replied with a small smile.

"Tracey, then. Now that you have their names, you might want to consider contacting your mother's parents – they might be able to tell you what happened, and from what you've told us about your father, it sounds like a far safer option at the present time. Best not say anything about this to your father until you've got all your facts straight."

"I think I will – write to my grandparents, that is," Tracey agreed. "If nothing else, it might be nice to get to know the rest of my family."

As promised, they met up with Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Blaise for lunch, Sirius having returned to Grimmauld Place to Side-Along Apparate the teenagers, and Draco and Tracey wasted no time in telling their friends what they'd learned. The others agreed with Tracey's decision to contact her grandparents, and they helped her compose the letter over an enjoyable lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. They posted the owl immediately after the meal, not wanting to waste any time, and Tracey promised she'd tell them as soon as she received a reply.

* * *

They passed the remainder of the Easter holidays in nervous anticipation, trying their hardest to focus on their heavy loads of homework, but the day came when they had to return to Hogwarts, and Tracey still hadn't contacted them. In fact, it was almost a week into the summer term when a nondescript brown owl finally flew Tracey's way during breakfast, and Tracey had to hide her shaking hands from her housemates, who had no doubt noticed by now that she hardly ever got any post.

"Do you want us to be with you when you open it?" Draco asked, taking care to keep his voice low. Tracey thought on it for a long moment.

"Yes," she said finally. "This letter could contain something very personal, but you all have helped me so much that you deserve to be there."

"Right after breakfast, then," Blaise said. "I know the three of us have free periods first thing today, and if the others don't, we can fill them in later. You can't wait to read that, not now that you have it." Tracey agreed, and Draco dashed off a charmed parchment message to Harry explaining the plan. Ginny was unable to join them – not only did she have class, but her O.W.L.s were also alarmingly close – but Harry and Hermione had frees, and the five friends hurried to the Room of Requirement as soon as they'd finished eating. When they tried to get in, however, they found the room blocked.

"What the hell?" Harry muttered. "Why isn't it letting us in?"

"Is somebody else using the room?" Hermione wondered. "We've never run into that problem before, have we?"

"Maybe somebody else from the D.A. is practicing?" Blaise suggested. "But never mind that, we need somewhere else to go – first class is only so long, and Tracey needs to read this letter before she explodes."

"There are a bunch of empty classrooms not too far from here," Hermione said. "Follow me." They all but ran down the corridor and were immensely relieved when the first door they tried opened easily.

"Ok," Tracey said as they took a seat on some cushions Hermione conjured. "Ok." She took a deep breath, slit open the envelope, and removed the letter inside. For a long moment, all was quiet as she read. Then:

"Oh my…holy _Merlin…"_

"What is it, Trace?" Blaise asked. "Is something wrong?"

"I…I don't know," Tracey admitted. "Here – it's probably easier if I just read it." She cleared her throat and began to read aloud:

_"'Dear Tracey,_

_It was both a surprise and a delight to receive your letter – we'd honestly expected never to hear from you after what happened between your parents. While the thought of our daughter saddens us greatly, we will do our best to answer all your questions honestly and completely.'"_

"Why does the thought of their daughter make them sad?" Draco asked. "What happened?"

"Hush, Dragon," Hermione scolded. "Let Tracey read."

_"'When we first married, we tried for years to conceive a child, but had no luck. After countless episodes of frustration and tears, we turned to adoption and brought your mother into our lives. Many people looked down on us for adopting, but we didn't care – Marianne was the brightness we needed after so long of feeling hopeless, and she was our pride and joy. As is the case with most parents, we'll never forget her first display of accidental magic, and we were so proud to receive a letter from her after her first night at Hogwarts, where she'd been Sorted into Ravenclaw and was already making friends with her new housemates.'"_

"Your mother was adopted?" Blaise said, his interest piqued.

"Yes – and there's more," Tracey said quietly. _"'Seven years at Hogwarts flew by faster than we could have ever imagined, and before we knew it, the little girl we'd welcomed into our lives and our hearts was a grown woman, ready to go out and conquer the world. She had excellent marks a promising apprenticeship, and she was in love. She'd started seeing Max Davis – your father – in their sixth year, and they were still going strong when they left Hogwarts. Many of her friends questioned her for dating a Slytherin, but she insisted that he was better than a stereotype, and they married just a few years after leaving school. You were born in December of 1979, and to the world, you seemed a very happy family._

_'As is the case with many adopted children, Marianne often asked questions about her birth family. It took us an exceedingly long time to track down any satisfactory information – the adoption agency could give us almost nothing, as it hadn't been Marianne's parents who'd brought her to the orphanage in the first place, and we hit countless dead ends during the course of our search. When we finally found out the truth, we were shocked. That Marianne had been brought to a Wizarding orphanage was merely by chance. Our daughter was magical, but her birth parents were not – by birth, our daughter was a Muggle-born._

_'Please do not misunderstand that last statement – though we were shocked by the information, we were no less thrilled to have Marianne in our lives. We might be a pureblooded couple, but Marianne's true blood status meant – and still means – nothing to us. We cleaned up enough of her scrapes over the years to know that her blood is exactly the same as ours, and she is our daughter, plain and simple. Unfortunately, your father and his family felt differently – Marianne loved him enough that she told him the truth of her heritage as soon as she knew, not wanting to keep any secrets from him, but Max did not appreciate the knowledge and dissolved their marriage as soon as he could. Blood status was apparently far more important to him than she'd ever known, and he didn't stay married to her any longer than was necessary. We hesitate to suggest anything when we don't know how close you are with your father, but we suspect that the only reason he kept you was because Marianne died suddenly shortly after the marriage ended. We're sorry to say that we don't know the details of how your marriage contract came to be, but we wish you all the best in finding a loophole – no one deserves to be forced into something that should be for love._

_Tracey, thank you for finding it in you to write to us, and we hope to hear from you again soon. If you have any further questions, please do not hesitate to ask – we will do all that we can to help you. _

_Fondly,_

_Jeffrey and Celeste Gardner'"_

"Holy Merlin is right," Harry said after a lengthy silence. "That's a lot to take in, Trace."

"Your father even changed his name when he remarried," Draco pointed out. "He introduced himself to me as Beauregard, but your grandparents referred to him as 'Max' in their letter."

"I guess I just assumed he'd always gone by his middle name," Tracey said. "But I guess not. And my mum – my mum is dead." She stared at the letter, reading the flowing script over and over as if it might disappear if she looked away.

"I'm sorry, Tracey," Hermione said softly, reaching over to squeeze the other girl's hand.

"It's ok – I don't even remember her," Tracey said just as quietly. "I just…it would've been nice to have a chance to meet her, to get to know her. Now I know I never will."

"You could still meet your grandparents," Draco pointed out. "They seem more than willing to accept you into their lives, and they sound like decent people."

"We've overlooked one _extremely_ important thing, here," Blaise said. Harry, Draco, and Hermione looked to him for an explanation, but Tracey understood.

"My mother's blood status," she said immediately. "And by extension, mine."

"Yeah – you're a half-blood," Blaise said. To everyone's surprise, he was grinning madly.

"I am," Tracey acknowledged. "But you all should know by now that that doesn't matter to me – what difference does it make that I'm not actually a pureblood?"

"In this case, it makes all the difference in the world," Blaise insisted. "It makes a huge difference, because it means the contract is a lie. The contract specifically creates an alliance through the marriage of two pureblooded children, but you're not a pureblood. That's your loophole – you can dissolve the contract."

* * *

**A/N: Another long chapter. They found the loophole - YAY! So what did you all think of Tracey's story? Funny coincidence that I only just learned the other day - if you've ever seen the photo of the 'original 40' list from JKR, Tracey Davis is actually listed as a half-blood in those notes. Great how that worked out, isn't it?**

**Thanks for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading! Hope you're all enjoying so far!**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	20. Hitting the Jackpot

The friends were silent for but a moment as Blaise's words sunk in before Tracey shrieked and threw herself into her boyfriend's arms.

"Blaise, you're a genius!" she cried, kissing him soundly before crushing him to her in the tightest hug she could manage. Blaise let out an 'oomph' of surprise at her uncharacteristically outward display of affection, but he accepted the embrace with a soft chuckle.

"Hardly a genius, love," he said as he pulled back to look at her. "After all, it was you and Draco who did all the hard stuff – finding out your mother's name, contacting your grandparents, and all that."

"You still did all that research into the legal side of it," Tracey insisted. "You and Hermione – if you hadn't done that, you wouldn't have known that the blood status falsification would nullify the contract."

"I'm pretty sure _any_ sort of falsification that blatant would nullify a contract," Hermione said with a snort.

"Why did you never mention your father had remarried, Trace?" Harry wondered, tilting his head slightly in her direction. Tracey shrugged.

"I'd never really thought it was important, to be honest," she said. "I was never completely sure that Carina wasn't really my mother, but I was forbidden to ask questions that would have told me the truth, and that was that. It's always been in the back of my mind, sure, but I never thought it would turn out to be so important."

"Family is always important, Tracey," Harry said softly. Tracey could see the slight flash of pain in his green eyes and winced sympathetically – Harry had had his father taken from him when he was barely a toddler, and it hadn't even been a year since he'd lost his mother as well. Draco had lost both of his birth parents plus his adopted mother, Hermione's mother was dead while her father was alive thanks only to a miracle, Blaise's father was long gone…everyone in the room was acutely aware of the importance of family.

"Thank you, all of you," Tracey said quietly as she folded up the letter from her grandparents and carefully tucked it away. "I owe all of you so much."

"You don't owe us anything," Hermione insisted. "You're our friend – it was the least we could do to help you, and now you have a chance to get to know family you didn't even know you had." She smirked mischievously and added, "And besides, as much as I like you, I wasn't about to let you have Draco."

"I'll ignore the fact that you just talked about me like I was a broomstick or a textbook for the time being," Draco quipped. Hermione chuckled.

"You know I don't think of you as a possession, love, but you _are_ mine," she said, leaning over to give him a kiss.

"So what's next?" Harry asked once Draco and Hermione had returned to the real world. "We found the loophole, but what do we do now?"

"I don't think we can really do much until the summer holidays," Tracey replied with a slight frown. "I would love to have tried the ring ceremony again before the year ended, because seeing it happen for real will be incredibly satisfying, but I don't think it will work until the contract is dissolved completely – we found the loophole, yes, but the bond is technically still there. In the meantime, we need to figure out how we're going to confront my father." Nobody missed the slight lowering of her voice, the darkening of her tone that accompanied her final statement.

"Do you think we'll have any issues getting him to comply?" Draco asked, looking slightly worried.

"When was that contract written, Tracey?" Blaise asked suddenly. Tracey cocked her head, clearly confused.

"Does it matter?" she asked.

"It might – if it was drawn up before your mother found out about her heritage, then the fact that the contract doesn't actually involve two pureblooded children is an honest mistake. If it was drawn up _after_ that time, however, then your father knowingly lied to Lucius Malfoy's face to procure the agreement."

"I don't think that fact alone would be enough in terms of legal trouble, though," Hermione argued. "Lucius Malfoy would have prosecuted your father for all he was worth for such a thing, but we aren't Lucius Malfoy – we need something else to back it up."

"We still don't know the exact circumstances surrounding the dissolving of your parents' marriage," Harry pointed out. "Your father's first marriage, I mean. Blaise, Draco, didn't one of you mention something about Wizarding marriages being exceptionally difficult to break?"

"I did," Draco acknowledged. "Wizarding marriages are usually for life, especially if the couple includes the traditional bonding spells in their ceremony – those spells aren't meant to be broken. Tracey, your father is such a traditionalist that I'm sure your parents had such a thing in their wedding, and yet he would have had to break them somehow in order to marry Carina."

"The question is, how?" Hermione asked, quickly catching on.

"Exactly," Draco said. _"How_ did he break that union, and so quickly? Like we said before, the time lapse between the end of his first marriage and the start of his second one was less than six months, but there seems to have been no legal or magical objection to that second marriage, since the Ministry documents were all in order."

"Unless there was something there we didn't see," Tracey said, her eyes wide.

"How the hell did your father end up remarried so quickly, anyway?" Harry asked. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but from what your grandparents said in their letter, it sounded like your parents really did love each other right up until your mother discovered and revealed her heritage. How, then, did your father end up with Carina so quickly? Most people don't just jump the gun and marry someone they hardly know."

"Unless there's a marriage contract involved, or an affair," Draco continued, "but in this case, it doesn't sound like either. Mr. Davis' parents would have questioned him if he suddenly asked for a marriage contract in his twenties, especially when he was already married and probably wouldn't have wanted to admit that his first wife wasn't the pureblood they thought she was, and people who care about their spouses don't cheat."

"Maybe they went to Hogwarts together?" Hermione suggested. "Acquaintances, former classmates, that sort of thing?"

"I don't think how Carina came into the equation is the important part," Blaise said quickly. "It's odd, yes, but I think how Marianne was taken _out_ of the picture is far more suspicious."

"What are you thinking, Blaise?" Tracey asked.

"I can only come up with two conclusions, and neither of them is good," Blaise cautioned. Tracey motioned for him to go on.

"I'm already decidedly not happy with him at the moment," she said bluntly. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"The Ministry documents are indeed all in order," Blaise began. "That means that nothing objected, legally or magically, when the second marriage took place; therefore, the bond involved in the first marriage somehow ceased to exist. I can only think of two ways that might have happened: either your father bribed someone to destroy that bond with some form of Dark magic, or…well, your grandparents did say that Marianne died suddenly very shortly after she told her husband the truth. Does that not seem odd to you?"

"You think my father killed my mother?" Tracey asked, surprisingly looking more angry than upset.

"It's entirely possible," Blaise said. "If a spouse dies, all of those bonds dissolve naturally. Kill off the first wife – there are plenty of ways to kill someone in the Wizarding world and make it look like an accident – the bonds break, and he's free to remarry a 'proper' pureblood with no one the wiser."

"That's our angle," Draco said immediately.

"But we have no proof!" Hermione repeated. "As awful as that sounds, everything we've come up with is purely circumstantial."

"But it might actually be enough, Lotte," Draco insisted. "Listen, if either of those scenarios is true, it'll mean a lengthy stay in Azkaban for Mr. Davis. What we have is purely circumstantial at the moment, yes, but it also lines up far too well to be mere coincidence. If we can get Mr. Davis to talk, we might just get what we need."

"Are you suggesting blackmail?" Hermione asked. "You could get into just as much trouble!"

"Says the girl who kept a reporter imprisoned in a jar," Draco replied with a snort. "Trust us, Lotte – if anyone knows how to operate in situations like these, it's us Slytherins. True, Mr. Davis was a Slytherin as well, but we have the element of surprise and a dangerous amount of information on our side. Only one of us is going to win this game, and it's not going to be him."

"It's not you I don't trust, Dragon," Hermione reminded him.

"I don't blame you in the slightest, Hermione, but you honestly have nothing to worry about," Tracey said darkly. "That man has pushed me down again and again – not anymore. As soon as school ends, we're going to go to my house, and we're going to sort this out. Then we're all going back to Grimmauld Place – or somewhere else, if you prefer – and we're going to celebrate, because we _are_ going to come out on top here. My father has ruined my life for the last time."

* * *

The days passed quickly, as they tended to do when end-of-year exams were close, and the friends found themselves busy as they began wrapping things up while still concentrating on large piles of homework. In addition to their own hefty workloads, they all pitched in wherever they could to help Ginny study for her upcoming O.W.L.s – the redhead was calm for the most part, but the amount of material she had to know was staggering, and those who had gone through the exams already knew how beneficial a fresh perspective could be. D.A. meetings had largely ended for the year – they kept finding the Room of Requirement already occupied, though they still had no idea who was using the space, and they were all so busy with revision anyway that there wasn't time. They did, however, make time for a celebratory lunch at The Dragon and the Unicorn, the little café Harry and Ginny had discovered the previous year, when Hermione, Tracey, and Blaise passed their Apparition tests during the final Hogsmeade weekend of the year. As Harry and Draco weren't yet seventeen when the course ended, they would have to wait and take their tests sometime over the summer, but they had both done very well in the lessons and felt confident that they would pass as well when the time came.

Not everything was as fun as passing Apparition tests, though – though the trio had all made noticeable progress, Occlumency lessons were still difficult, and the time alone with Snape was incredibly awkward. Harry, Draco, and Hermione were well aware of how deeply Snape had cared for Lily Potter, and though he'd never given them any indication of how much her death had affected him, the memory Draco had accidentally seen during their first session still hung over them like a stifling blanket. Draco also really wished he had a valid excuse to end his tutoring sessions with Nott – Pansy still kept finding reasons to interrupt them, for one thing, and for another, Nott really didn't need the additional help anymore – but for as much as he disliked his roommate, he would have felt bad stopping the sessions so close to the exams. At least Nott asked intelligent questions, which made their time together a little more bearable, and of course the extra practice was always good.

Near the end of May, Harry received another summons from Dumbledore, and in spite of their hectic schedules, they knew they couldn't ignore it. They still had so little information about the Horcruxes, and they were about to go into the summer holidays and wouldn't be able to speak with the headmaster as easily as they could now.

"May I first offer my congratulations," Dumbledore said as Harry and Draco entered his office alone that evening. Ginny, of course, was studying for O.W.L.s, and Hermione had offered to help her review for Transfiguration – Harry and Draco would fill them in later. The boys looked at one another, not quite sure what Dumbledore meant. Their headmaster seemed to understand their confusion, because he smiled amusedly and added, "I heard that you found a way out of your marriage contract, Mr. Black."

"Oh – yes, we did," Draco said quickly. "Thank you, sir. But I think the congratulations belong to Tracey, really – she not only got out of an arranged marriage, but she also learned the truth about her family."

"Nonsense," Dumbledore said. "Miss Davis' newfound knowledge is wonderful, of course, but you're now free as well. I hope you and Miss Granger will be very happy together." Harry nearly choked on his tea, and Draco blushed a brilliant shade of red they all were surprised his fair skin tone could produce.

"Er…thank you, sir," he muttered, wrapping his fingers around his teacup in an attempt to move the focus elsewhere. Dumbledore chuckled.

"Love will win us this war, Mr. Black – don't forget that," he said. "And now, let us discuss what we came here to discuss." He turned to reach for his Pensieve, and Harry gasped.

"Professor! What happened to your hand?" For Dumbledore's hand was blackened and burned, the already frail appendage looking quite horrifyingly dead.

"Ah – now that, Harry, is a rather thrilling tale," Dumbledore said with a nod. "Unfortunately, we haven't the time to do it justice tonight, as we really do have other, far more important things to discuss, but I can tell you that we are down a Horcrux."

"You destroyed one of them?" Harry asked, nearly dropping his tea in his excitement. "How? Which one?" Beside him, Draco managed to set his own cup down with far more finesse than his brother had done, but he still focused on the headmaster with rapt attention.

"The 'how' will have to wait for another time – part of that thrilling tale, you know – but as for which one, it was the Gaunt ring, the one we saw Marvolo, and later Morfin, wearing in the memories," Dumbledore explained. "As we also know from those memories, Voldemort stole the ring from his uncle the same night he killed his father and paternal grandparents, making said object the most likely candidate for a Horcrux if he'd chosen to create one that evening. I took a trip to the old Gaunt shack, which is, of course, now abandoned, and found the ring hidden in a box under a loose floorboard in the kitchen."

"And your hand?" Harry pressed. Dumbledore sighed.

"Merely the product of an old man's foolishness," he said gently. "Now, if you will, I have two more memories I would like to share with you this evening, this first one belonging to a house-elf called Hokey."

Like most of the other memories they'd seen, their glimpse of Hokey's encounter with a young Voldemort wasn't very long, but it gave them a lot of valuable information. After completing his seven years at Hogwarts, Tom Riddle took on the position of assistant at Borgin and Burkes, a shop in Knockturn Alley that sold all sorts of Dark artifacts. While seeing to the many house calls necessary to keep both his bosses and their clients happy, Riddle made the acquaintance of Hepzibah Smith, a witch with the biggest collection of junk Harry or Draco had ever seen – her living room was cluttered with all sorts of boxes, chests, trunks, cabinets, and containers, the smallest of pathways barely allowing for any sort of movement. It seemed that Riddle had visited Hepzibah on many occasions before, as the large witch was eagerly anticipating his arrival when they entered the memory, and she instantly sent Hokey scurrying away for tea. After a few minutes of idle chitchat, Hepzibah ordered the little elf to fetch her two "greatest treasures". She showed them to Riddle individually, and neither teen missed the greedy gleam in his eyes as he examined them: the first was a small golden cup, a handle on either side and a badger worked into the metal, and the second was a large locket engraved with an ornate _S._

The second memory was one of Dumbledore's own, and he told them it took place roughly ten years after the first. When they arrived in the memory, they found themselves standing in the headmaster's office, where they found Voldemort and Dumbledore deep in conversation. The difference between the Voldemort they'd just seen and the one in front of them was deeply unsettling – the Voldemort in Hokey's memory had been a little older, a little thinner than his Hogwarts days, but still undeniably handsome; this Voldemort, however, had permanently bloodshot eyes, oddly distorted features, and skin as white as the snow falling outside the office window. Harry and Draco listened intently as the two elder wizards conversed – Voldemort, it seemed, was determined to obtain the Defense Against the Dark Arts post at Hogwarts, but Dumbledore adamantly refused, insisting that Voldemort's main goal in returning to the castle was something other than teaching. After a heated exchange, Voldemort stormed out of the office, and the memory ended.

"Excuse my language, Professor, but what the hell was wrong with Riddle in that last memory?" Harry asked bluntly, still looking thoroughly disturbed.

"That, Harry, is what murder will do to a person," Dumbledore replied quietly. "It is all speculation, of course, but if my timeline is correct, Voldemort had created at least three Horcruxes by the time that conversation took place, and he'd murdered countless other people as well – in short, he'd mutilated his soul in a way that no one else has ever done before. You cannot commit such an inhuman act as physically severing your soul that many times without it beginning to reflect on the outside as well, I think." Both boys shuddered.

"What does that mean for his current appearance?" Draco wondered, not really sure if he actually wanted to know the answer. "Does he look even worse now?"

"We can only imagine," Dumbledore answered. "In a perfect world, we would never know, but I'm afraid we don't have that option. Now, what did we learn from these memories?"

"Voldemort took a job at Borgin and Burkes so he could track down important magical objects," Harry said at once. "He was probably hoping to find something somewhat interesting to add to his 'potential Horcrux' list, and he hit the jackpot with Hepzibah Smith – those two treasures of hers once belonged to the founders, didn't they?"

"Very good," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Yes, the badger cup belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, while the engraved locket was Salazar Slytherin's."

"And he would've especially wanted that locket, since he knew thanks to his uncle that it had once been in his family," Draco added. "So I'm guessing he stole both the cup and the locket from Hepzibah Smith?"

"Again, we are merely dealing in the realm of speculation, but I think it's safe to say that is what happened," Dumbledore said. "Hepzibah Smith was dead a mere two days after this encounter, and Voldemort resigned from his post at Borgin and Burkes and vanished without a trace not long after that. Just as he'd modified his uncle Morfin's memories, he altered Hokey's memory so that she was convicted of her mistress's death."

"No!" Harry cried, looking outraged. He'd had relatively few encounters with house-elves compared to other magical creatures during his tenure at Hogwarts, but they were sweet little things, if not a little odd, and by and large hardly capable of even contemplating murder, never mind committing it. He knew Hermione would be furious when she learned of Hokey's fate – while Hermione had accepted long ago that house-elves enjoyed the hard work that they did, she definitely didn't condone the harsh manner in which many wizards treated their house-elves, and Hokey's situation definitely qualified.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "You know that Voldemort has no compassion for even his Death Eaters – did you really think he would feel differently about a mere house-elf? No, he saw Hokey as nothing more than a means to an end, just like his uncle, and he took advantage accordingly. The point is, he got what he was after, and by the time anyone in poor Hepzibah's family realized that either piece was missing, Voldemort was long gone, along with any suspicion that he could be the thief."

"What did you think he was really after when he came back to Hogwarts?" Draco asked.

"Another very important question, and another to which I can't give a definite answer," Dumbledore replied with a sigh. "I suspect that Voldemort was after another artifact belonging to the founders – he had, after all, already obtained heirlooms from two of them. However, that theory runs into quite the snag when we realize that the only remaining artifact belonging to Gryffindor is currently here in this office, and the only known important possession of Ravenclaw's has been lost for centuries."

"Which is what?" Harry asked.

"A diadem – a tiara, if you will. It was supposedly very beautiful and gave the wearer enhanced wisdom, but it hasn't been seen by anyone since Ravenclaw's daughter stole it from her, and that was almost a thousand years ago."

"Is that what they'd fought about, when Ravenclaw sent that man to find her daughter when she was on her deathbed?" Draco asked, recalling a conversation he'd had with Hermione about that very topic.

"Yes. They'd always had a rather tenuous relationship, but Helena's stealing the diadem was the last straw, and the two did not see each other for quite some time. Rowena's sending the young man after her daughter was a last plea for reconciliation."

"Which they never achieved, because her daughter was murdered by that same man before either of them could return," Draco finished.

"Are there any stories with _happy_ endings in the Wizarding world?" Harry muttered, looking appalled. Dumbledore chuckled.

"Of course, my boy – although after this discussion, it doesn't quite seem that way, does it?" He touched his long fingers together and rested his chin on the tips, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses.

"So we're still at a loss as to what the other Horcruxes might be," Harry said after a moment. "But we can safely guess that the cup and the locket are two of them, which leaves four more, if we're going with the 'seven parts' theory – six Horcruxes, plus the bit in Voldemort."

"Two, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"Sorry?"

"Two unknown Horcruxes, not four – don't forget that we've already taken care of the diary and the ring."

"Ah, right."

"Well, that's not terrible…if we overlook the fact that we also have to find and destroy them all," Draco said slowly.

"Well, aren't we just a right little ray of sunshine," Harry muttered.

"Oh, shut up," Draco grumbled back. "We've made progress, but we can't deny what's left is still damn difficult."

"Nobody said you had to _remind_ us of that fact…"

Dumbledore could only chuckle to himself as the boys bickered – biological or otherwise, there was nothing quite like siblings.

* * *

**A/N: Couldn't resist throwing in that last little argument, especially not when it was my sister's birthday yesterday...lol. Sorry that the chapter was a bit later than usual today, I had a rather lengthy to-do list - plus writing filler chapters like this is always harder.**

**Thank you for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading! It's about to get crazy, so get ready.**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	21. The Seer Speaks Again

As May became June, the castle grew quiet as the students retreated to the library, their common rooms, and other favorite study places to finish preparing for their exams. The O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s began a few weeks before the regular end-of-term exams, which meant that Harry and his friends headed to class as usual after wishing Ginny good luck on her first written O.W.L. – Charms, just like theirs had been. The professors worked the students hard right up until the end, which meant that they had little time to worry about how Ginny was faring as they tackled complex transfigurations and finicky potions recipes, but they were confident that their friend would do well. And indeed, though she did still have a few questions she wished she'd elaborated on and parts of practicals that had tripped her up a bit, Ginny seemed largely satisfied with her performance as each exam concluded.

Harry checked his watch as he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower after his latest free period roughly a week after O.W.L.s began. He was hoping to get a bit of flying in before tackling the nasty essay on poisons Snape had set them, and he was pleased to see that he had plenty of time to do so. Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup shortly after the Easter holidays, but Harry knew he wouldn't have much time to fly over the summer, especially if they spent most of it at Grimmauld Place, and so he wanted to make up for that in any way he could. Students had been using the Quidditch pitch regularly when they weren't studying – maybe he could find someone to toss a Quaffle with until dinnertime.

Harry was still focused on his watch as he rounded a corner on the sixth floor, and as a result, he walked straight into someone, knocking them both to the ground. When Harry looked up, he was horribly embarrassed to find that he'd collided with Professor Trelawney, the Divination instructor – he hadn't interacted with her much this year, having dropped the subject after O.W.L.s, but still…he'd knocked over a _teacher._

"Professor, I'm so sorry!" Harry stammered, scrambling to his feet and hurriedly stacking the assortment of books and papers Professor Trelawney had dropped. "Are you alright?"

"Not to worry, my dear," Professor Trelawney replied, accepting her belongings with a soft smile. "Accidents do happen, you know."

"Er…right, I suppose so," Harry said, still feeling extremely awkward. "As long as everything's alright?"

"I'm quite alright, I assure you. Don't let me keep you waiting, dear." Harry nodded and made to continue down the corridor, still avoiding the professor's understanding gaze, but he hadn't taken more than five steps before a loud crash made him jump, and he whirled around again. Professor Trelawney's books and papers were once again scattered all over the floor, but she didn't seem to have noticed – she was staring straight ahead, her eyes wide, and something about her expression suggested she wasn't actually seeing her immediate surroundings at all.

"Er…Professor?" Harry asked tentatively. "What's wrong?"

_"It is coming, and sooner than we expected or anticipated," _Professor Trelawney said. Her voice was deep and throaty, the exact opposite of her usual airy tone, and Harry shivered as he recalled another instance when he'd heard her speak that way – during his Divination final exam at the end of third year. Professor Trelawney hadn't remembered a word of what she'd said afterwards, but she'd predicted with uncanny accuracy the events that had unfolded that evening, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if he was about to hear another prediction.

_"Once broken, now repaired, the way is clear for bloodshed," _she continued. "_Innocence will be tainted by murder, and brothers in arms will unite like has rarely been seen before. Tonight at midnight, the phoenix will fall."_

For a moment, it looked like Professor Trelawney was going to pitch forward and fall face first on the stone floor of the corridor, but she merely swayed for a moment before shaking her head vehemently and looking around as if confused.

"I'm sorry, my dear, did you need something?" she asked Harry politely.

"Erm…no, Professor," Harry replied quickly. "I was just on my way back to my common room."

"Of course," Professor Trelawney said. She still looked a little dazed, but her hand was steady as she withdrew her wand from somewhere in the depths of her many shawls and gathered her belongings with a swift flick of her wrist. She nodded at Harry once more, then continued back the way she had came as if nothing had happened at all.

As soon as Professor Trelawney was gone, Harry dropped to his knees and ripped open his book bag, searching quickly through his things until he found his charmed parchment. Unfortunately, the flying was going to have to wait – if what he'd just heard was in fact another true prediction, something terrible was going to happen in a matter of hours.

_RoR, as soon as you can,_ Harry scribbled, hoping with everything he had that Draco and Hermione both had their parchments with them. He refastened his bag and backtracked down the corridor to a different staircase than he'd originally intended to use, as this new route would bring him much closer to the dancing trolls tapestry, and he raced up the stairs two at a time. Once he was facing the blank stretch of wall, Harry paced three times, thinking hard of their personal study area, and was both thrilled and relieved to see that Draco and Hermione were already in the room, their heads bent over what looked like the very Potions essay he'd been thinking about not fifteen minutes ago. They both looked up as soon as they heard the door open, and Harry could see a piece of charmed parchment sitting next to Hermione's Potions textbook.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asked as Harry dropped his book bag next to his usual armchair and sank into it. Harry ran a hand through his hair, not quite sure where to begin.

"I…I ran into Professor Trelawney just now," he finally said. "Quite literally, actually – knocked her over on the sixth floor – but that's not the point." He made a noise of frustration and raked his fingers through his hair a second time, positive it was sticking up every which way by now.

"Harry, what happened?" Hermione repeated. She looked extremely concerned.

"She just made another prediction – you know, like the one she made the night you two caught Wormtail," Harry said.

"Are you sure?" Draco asked skeptically. "I know we've been dealing with prophecies for a while now, but…"

"I'm sure," Harry insisted. "It was the same sort of thing – she went into a trance, spoke in this deep, hoarse voice, and when she finished, she sort of shook her head and looked at me funny, and she clearly didn't remember that she'd said anything at all. She'd dropped her books all over the ground, and she just sort of looked at them as if she couldn't figure out how they'd ended up there, then picked them up and walked off. I'm telling you, it's the same situation as before."

"What did she say?" Hermione asked. "Do you remember?"

"Not word for word, I don't think," Harry replied, "but the general idea wasn't good – she said…er…something is going to happen sooner than expected, and she mentioned murder. The only part I remember is the last bit: _'Tonight at midnight, the phoenix will fall.'_ I don't know what the phoenix bit refers to, but it could be the Order."

"And even if it's not, you said she mentioned murder, and that's never a good sign," Draco said. "And whatever she meant, it's evidently happening tonight."

"We should probably go talk to Dumbledore, if we can," Hermione said then. "You know I don't put too much stock in what Professor Trelawney says, but if something bad _is_ about to happen, he needs to know – he is the leader of the Order, after all."

"There's also no mention of _where_ this supposed event is happening," Draco said. "Unless that was part of the wording you couldn't remember?" He looked to Harry, who shook his head.

"No," he said. "I may not remember all of it, but I know there was no mention of a place, or anything that could be one. Let's go find Dumbledore, and maybe he can help me get the memory into a Pensieve so we can look at it properly."

The trio left the Room of Requirement immediately and hurried to the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the headmaster's office. To their dismay, however, Dumbledore wasn't there, and when they ran into Professor McGonagall a few minutes later, she was only able to tell them that the headmaster had been away from the school since morning and was unlikely to return before dinner. They returned to their study room at a much slower pace than they'd left it, dejectedly contemplating their next move.

"Perhaps Dumbledore already knows what's going on, and that's why he's been gone all day?" Hermione wondered as she sat on the sofa. Draco and Harry nodded as they took their own seats, but neither seemed exceptionally enthused by her suggestion.

"I suppose it's possible," Harry said. "But what's the point of making a prediction if someone else already knows what you're predicting?"

"Harry, you know I've always thought Divination was rubbish; do you really expect me to be able to answer that?" Hermione said dryly.

"No, but you have to agree it doesn't really make sense."

"I don't think there's any sense worrying about it right now," Draco said. "Dumbledore isn't here at the moment, so what are we going to do? There isn't really anything we _can_ do, is there?"

"Not really, no," Harry said, though he still sounded hesitant. "I guess we just have to wait."

The three friends looked at each other. Waiting – especially when waiting for something bad – was never fun.

Neither Harry, Hermione, nor Draco were able to explain how they managed to get through the final remaining hour before dinner without exploding with nervous anticipation, but they were soon making their way down to the Great Hall for the evening meal. It was obvious at a glance that Dumbledore hadn't returned – or if he had, he was taking his meal elsewhere – but halfway through the main course, an owl swooped down and landed on the Slytherin table, right in front of Draco. He gave a gasp of surprise when he recognized his own Berenice, and he stroked her feathers lovingly as he untied the neat scroll attached to her leg. Berenice accepted a bit of his dinner with a gracious hoot before taking off again, her tawny feathers glistening in the candlelight. As post owls usually only delivered messages during breakfast, Draco knew this note had to be important, and he quickly slit open the seal with his knife before unrolling it and scanning the loopy script within:

_Dear Mr. Black,_

_Please come to my office this evening at nine o'clock. I'm feeling partial towards licorice wands this evening._

_Yours very sincerely,_

_Professor Dumbledore_

Draco stuffed the note in his pocket and wasted no time in sending Harry and Hermione a charmed parchment message:

_Dumbledore wants me to meet him in his office later tonight._

_What for?_ came the reply in the slightly messy scrawl he recognized as Harry's.

_No idea,_ Draco wrote. _Can't imagine why I'm the only one who got a message – what could he possibly have to tell me that he wouldn't tell you two as well?_

_Guess we'll find out in a few hours._

Draco was still incredibly curious when he left for Dumbledore's office just before nine o'clock – what did the headmaster want with him? Was there something related to the Malfoy estate that had been left unsettled? He contemplated a number of possibilities as he walked through the corridors, but no one scenario seemed more likely than any of the others, and so Draco merely gave up guessing and gave the password. The gargoyle sprang aside, and Draco entered the office when Dumbledore called for him to come in.

"Good evening, Mr. Black," Dumbledore said jovially as Draco took his usual seat. "Tea? Sherbet lemon?"

"Nothing for me tonight, thank you," Draco replied politely, though his grip on his chair's armrests was a bit tighter than usual.

"Very well, then. I suspect you're wondering why I called you in this evening?" Dumbledore asked. Draco nodded.

"Very much so, sir. You've always included at least Harry, Hermione, and Ginny in your missives as well, and so I must admit I'm at a loss."

"I've located another Horcrux," Dumbledore said without preamble.

"Really?" Draco said interestedly. "Which one?"

"The locket, if my research is correct."

"That's great…but if we're talking Horcruxes, shouldn't the others be here as well?" Draco asked with a frown. "Ginny's probably studying since I don't think she's quite finished her O.W.L.s, but I know that Harry and Hermione aren't busy right now."

"You may tell your friends after the meeting as usual, of course, but this particular Horcrux concerns you especially," Dumbledore said. "You see, unless I am very much mistaken, the locket is hidden in your ancestral home."

"There's a Horcrux at Malfoy Manor?" Draco repeated, a look of shock flickering across his face.

"Yes. Many pureblood family homes have hiding places that can easily be masked by spells, and I would be very surprised if Malfoy Manor was not the same," Dumbledore explained. "The fact that the house was once Voldemort's headquarters is also promising – I realize the diary was once in your family's possession as well, but it's possible Voldemort hid another Horcrux in the manor without anyone else's knowledge. As the diary was created with the goal of it eventually being discovered, I think we can safely say that it is a bit of an anomaly – the rest of the Horcruxes, I am sure, only Voldemort knows their location, or even their existence."

"Or so he thinks," Draco replied with a slight smirk. Dumbledore chuckled.

"Very true, my dear boy."

"So are you saying you know where this secret hiding spot in the manor is?" Draco asked. Dumbledore frowned.

"Unfortunately, I do not – I have never visited the manor, and of course the blueprints of prominent Wizarding buildings such as that are not public record. I was hoping that you might have noticed something when you last were in the house, actually." It was Draco's turn to frown.

"No, sir," he said. "The passageway that led to the cellar was hidden behind a door, but I doubt that's what we're looking for, and I was able to get past that without any trouble."

"No, that's not what we need," Dumbledore muttered. "We're looking for a secret compartment, a hidden safe, something of that sort."

"The only safe I found was the one in my father's study, and there was definitely no locket in there," Draco said.

"Also an unlikely candidate, as those safes tend to respond only to the master of the house."

"I'm truly sorry I can't be of more help, Professor," Draco said. "But the manor is huge – are we just going to do a blind search?"

"I'm afraid we might have to, unfortunately – there's no other way to learn what's there," Dumbledore said.

"Merlin, that'll take forever…hang on," Draco said suddenly. "Maybe _I_ don't know where this secret hiding place is, but there's someone else who might."

"Who?" Dumbledore asked. "Could you trust them with something like this?"

"Absolutely," Draco said firmly. Without a second thought, he called, "Dobby!" A loud _crack_ sounded as the little house-elf appeared in the middle of Dumbledore's office, and the headmaster chuckled.

"Of course," he said, looking amused. "Dobby worked for your family before he came to Hogwarts, didn't he?"

"He was my personal elf more than my family's, but yes, he did," Draco replied. He turned to Dobby. "Hello, Dobby. I was hoping you might be able to help us with something."

"Good evening, Master Draco!" Dobby squeaked. "Dobby is happy to help."

"Dobby, do you know of any secret hiding places in Malfoy Manor – places that could easily be protected by spells or something like that?" Draco asked. "Not something like the study safe – we need something that isn't dependent on a Malfoy's touch to open, something that anyone could theoretically use to hide something important." Dobby looked thoughtful as he considered Draco's question.

"Dobby is sorry," he said. "It is being a very long time since Dobby is working in Master Draco's home."

"You can think about it, Dobby, it's alright," Draco assured the elf. "If you think of something, though, please tell me as soon as possible." Dobby suddenly turned and looked up at the two wizards, his large eyes even wider than usual.

"There…there _is_ being a place, Master Draco," he said in little more than a whisper. "How Dobby is forgetting, Dobby does not know – Dobby is hearing Master Draco's father speak of it many times."

"What's that, Dobby?" Draco asked eagerly. "What hiding place did Lucius mention?"

"The drawing room – under the rug," Dobby replied. "Dobby is never seeing it, but some sort of trapdoor, Dobby thinks."

"That sounds very much like what we're after," Dumbledore said approvingly.

"Thank you, Dobby," Draco added. "You've been a huge help." Dobby beamed.

"Thank you very much, Master Draco! Is you needing anything else?" Dobby was clearly pleased with the praise and eager to help out again if he could.

"No, I don't think so – but I'll call you if I change my mind?"

"Of course, Master Draco. Please give Dobby's kindest regards to Master Harry and Mistress Hermione."

"As soon as I see them," Draco promised, giving Dobby a fond smile. Dobby smiled back, his ears flopping excitedly, and vanished with another loud _crack._

"Excellent thinking, Draco," Dumbledore said. "Now, I do believe wasting any more time would be pointless – shall we?" Draco looked confused.

"Shall we what?" he asked.

"Shall we fetch the Horcrux?"

_"We?"_ Draco repeated. "I…sir, what do you mean?" Dumbledore chuckled again.

"Forgive me, dear boy, I didn't mention it, did I…I would like you to come along with me to retrieve the locket. In fact, I suspect that you _must_ come along, as you will, at the very least, need to lead me onto the grounds due to Severus' wards, and I would not be surprised if we came across other enchantments that only a Malfoy can break."

"I…" Draco was speechless for a long moment. "I don't know what to say," he finally said. "You actually want _me_ to come along with you?"

"Indeed I do," Dumbledore said with a hint of amusement. "You are more than qualified for the job, I assure you."

"Thank you, sir," Draco said. "Yes, I'll go along with you."

"Excellent." Dumbledore's tone then turned serious. "I do have one last question, however. If you come with me, you must be prepared to do _exactly_ what I ask of you. We do not know just what sort of enchantments might be protecting the Horcrux, but they are bound to be complex, and they might very well fight us to keep us from obtaining the Horcrux. If I give you _any_ sort of command – even if I tell you to abandon the mission and get out of the manor, even if I tell you to leave me behind – are you prepared to do so?"

Draco carefully contemplated Dumbledore's request. Whatever they were facing, it was bound to be extremely dangerous – if it came down to it, could he really abandon the headmaster? What if Dumbledore was injured, or even dying? But they had to get the Horcruxes, and if this one was truly in Malfoy Manor…

"I'll do it," he said.

"Your word, Draco," Dumbledore insisted.

"You have it," Draco promised. "I give you my word that I will do exactly as you say."

"Good. Now, if you have no further questions, I suggest we set off as soon as possible. However, I would like you to make a stop by Gryffindor Tower before we leave."

"Gryffindor Tower?" Draco asked. "Are Harry and Hermione coming with us?"

"No – it will be dangerous enough with just two," Dumbledore said. "If there is a chance in the future for them to come along on a Horcrux hunt, I will gladly give it to them, but tonight is not that chance. No, I would like you to borrow your brother's invisibility cloak – it is already past curfew, as I'm sure you're aware, and I'd rather not have to explain why we're leaving school grounds so late at night. If I appear to be alone, anyone we encounter will simply think I am off for a drink in Hogsmeade." Draco recalled that someone – Sirius, maybe? – had once mentioned that Dumbledore's brother was the bartender at the Hog's Head, so the cover story was definitely believable.

"I'll send Harry and Hermione a charmed parchment message then so they know I'm coming," Draco said.

"Excellent. Please make sure you're back in my office by ten o'clock – as it is, we will not be able to Apparate directly to the manor, as I'm sure you know, and we have a fair amount of hard work ahead of us."

"I'll be back by then," Draco promised. He then dashed off a quick charmed parchment message before hurrying from the room. In all honesty, he wasn't entirely sure he was prepared for what he and Dumbledore were about to do, and the thought unnerved him when he remembered the prediction Harry had discussed earlier – hadn't his brother said it mentioned something happening sooner than they'd anticipated? Was that supposed to mean tonight's Horcrux hunt? And if it did, what did the rest of it mean? The mention of murder was particularly unsettling – Draco knew they were most likely going to face Dark magic of a formidable nature, but was someone actually going to _die_ tonight? He tried not to think about it as he quickly made his way to the seventh floor, but unfortunately, it wasn't the sort of thought that was going to disappear so easily.

* * *

**A/N: You all ready for this? To Malfoy Manor we go...**

**Just a quick update: camp has started, so I'm back to working 5 days a week instead of having Wednesdays off like I do during the school year. Obviously I'm still planning on updating weekly at the very least (as evidenced by the fact that this chapter's going up now), they just might be a few hours later than usual.**

**Thanks for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading! Glad we're all happy that the marriage contract is no longer an issue - the confrontation with Tracey's father is still to come, though, &amp; that'll be quite the scene.**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	22. All His Fault

Draco hurried through the castle as quickly as he could while still staying quiet – while he was a prefect and therefore allowed to be out past curfew, it was late enough that even rounds were almost over, and he wasn't on the patrol schedule that night anyway. If he happened to run into Filch, he'd be done for – the grumpy old caretaker knew that schedule better than almost anyone. Landing himself in detention was definitely not on Draco's agenda for the evening, and so he stuck to the shadows and chose his routes carefully.

"Bugger," Draco swore under his breath as he pushed back a tapestry at the top of a staircase and found himself in a completely different corridor than he'd expected. Rowena Ravenclaw must've had a strange sense of humor, he thought as he took a moment to reorient himself – the changing floor plan was her idea, after all, and clearly this was one of those staircases that thought it funny to suddenly lead somewhere different on certain days of the week. Luckily, Draco soon recognized the statue of Boris the Bewildered, which put him in the same corridor as the prefects' bathroom, and set off towards another staircase which, barring any further tricks on the castle's part, would take him straight to the seventh floor.

Draco reached the hidden entrance to Gryffindor Tower less than ten minutes later without further incident. Dumbledore hadn't given him the password, but it didn't matter – he'd barely been there thirty seconds when the Fat Lady's portrait swung open, revealing Harry and Hermione.

"We got your message," Harry said almost unnecessarily. "What's going on?" Draco glanced around to make sure they really were alone.

"Dumbledore reckons he knows where the locket is," he finally said, careful to keep his voice low just in case.

"Really?" Hermione gasped interestedly. "Where?"

"Malfoy Manor." Draco quickly explained all that had happened in his meeting with the headmaster, including Dumbledore's thoughts on why he, Draco, had to come along as well.

"He wants me to bring your invisibility cloak – he'd most likely have to explain why he was taking a student off-grounds after curfew if we ran into anyone, but if I'm hidden, no one will question him leaving alone."

"I suppose it would make sense that your house carries certain family-specific enchantments," Hermione said with a slow nod. "But…why tonight? These…um…_object_ retrievals are bound to be quite dangerous; wouldn't it be better to wait until term's over and you can plan it a little better?"

"You'd think so – maybe he wants to get it over with?" Draco shrugged. "Do any of us really understand how Dumbledore thinks?"

"Fair point," Harry said with a slight snort. "If he wants to go tonight, he wants to go tonight. But I have a bad feeling about it – remember what Trelawney said? What if whatever's going to happen happens while you're gone?"

"If anything happens at all, it almost _has_ to happen while they're gone – it's barely two hours to midnight," Hermione pointed out after a quick glance at her watch.

"Exactly. If something bad happens, we're the only ones who know where Dumbledore is going to be – if something bad happens, how will the Order get in touch with him?" Harry asked.

"We do all have our charmed coins," Draco reminded him, tugging gently on the little bronze Knut looped onto his necklace.

"And of course the Order knows how to communicate via Patronus as well," Hermione added.

"That's all true, I just…I'll feel better when tomorrow comes," Harry said.

"Harry, why don't we just wait up 'til Draco and Dumbledore get back?" Hermione suggested. "We can just watch the map for their return."

"We might be gone a while, Lotte," Draco cautioned. "I have no idea what kind of enchantments we'll be facing, or how long it'll take to break through them."

"Neither of us will be able to sleep until you get back, Dragon – we'll be too anxious to know you've returned safely, and then to hear your story afterwards," Hermione said. "Even if you don't make it back until tomorrow morning, we'll have no trouble staying up."

"Well, I suppose if that's what you want to do…" Draco checked his own watch. "I'd better get going – Dumbledore wants me back in his office by ten. Harry, can you go grab the cloak?"

"Yeah, sure – I'll be back in a minute." Harry gave the password to the Fat Lady and disappeared into Gryffindor Tower.

"Still taking good care of her, young man?" the Fat Lady asked, her gaze fixed on Draco. Draco nodded firmly.

"Yes, ma'am." The Fat Lady smiled.

"Good lad. I don't know what you're getting up to tonight, but I've heard the tales. We're facing dark times ahead, aren't we, and it's good to see that there's still hope and love in the world."

"I didn't know you were on a conversational basis with the Fat Lady," Hermione murmured so only Draco could hear her. Draco chuckled softly.

"We had a little bit of a chat after I left you here the night of the Yule Ball," he admitted. "She told me I'd best take care of you because you were a special girl – and she was most definitely right." Though the corridor was dim, Draco could still see the pretty blush that spread across Hermione's cheeks.

"Here we are," Harry said as he rejoined them a moment later. He held out the bundle of silvery cloth in his arms for his brother to take.

"I need to go," Draco said again as he accepted the cloak. "I'll let you know as soon as I get back."

"You'd better – we'll be waiting," Harry replied. The trio exchanged tight embraces, and Draco kissed Hermione swiftly before stepping back. Green, brown, and grey eyes alike sparkled with a fierce intensity – they'd have been lying if they'd said they weren't afraid, but they were also eager to see the task to its completion. The sooner they destroyed the Horcruxes, the better.

"Be safe," Harry said.

"You too – I'll see you soon." With one last nod, Draco ducked under the invisibility cloak and hurried back down the corridor, leaving Harry and Hermione alone.

"This is it – it's really happening," Hermione said softly. Harry nodded.

"Yeah. Bit weird, really…" Neither really knew what to say beyond that, and so they retreated into the common room, both mentally preparing themselves for a long and sleepless night.

* * *

"Ah – right on time, Mr. Black," Dumbledore said as Draco reappeared inside his office. "Very good. If you'll please put on that cloak and follow me."

The walk through the castle was quiet – the only person they passed between the headmaster's office and the entrance hall was Professor Flitwick, who greeted Dumbledore in his usual chipper fashion before continuing on his way. The grounds were equally silent, the lake still and only the occasional bird call sounding from the Forbidden Forest – even the massive front gates made no sound as they swung forward, though Dumbledore did stop once they'd passed through to murmur a few spells that Draco presumed were protection wards or something of the sort.

"To Hogsmeade, then," Dumbledore said, striding purposefully down the path.

"Sir?" Draco asked. "Why Hogsmeade? The Manor's in Wiltshire."

"Cover story, my dear boy," Dumbledore said with a wink in the general direction of his invisible charge. "I'm off for a drink in the village, remember? We can Disapparate from the outskirts of the High Street."

Hogsmeade wasn't as silent as Hogwarts, but the late hour made for very few people out and about, and they reached the field at the far edge of the village without incident.

"Can you Apparate, Draco?" Dumbledore asked once they'd stopped walking and Draco had removed the cloak.

"No, sir," Draco replied with a shake of his head. "I took the course, but I wasn't yet seventeen when they offered the test, so I don't yet have a license."

"No matter. Apparating such a long distance is highly inadvisable until you're completely comfortable with the method anyway. Now, grab onto my arm, if you will." Draco did as requested and soon felt the slightly uncomfortable sensation of being squeezed through a tube that went along with Apparition. It lasted a bit longer than he was used to – no doubt due to the fact that they were crossing practically the entire bloody United Kingdom in one jump – and when the sensation finally stopped, Draco opened his eyes to find himself standing in a deserted country lane. After another murmured spell, Dumbledore said, "This way," and off they went.

They'd been walking for about ten minutes when they reached the edge of the high wall that Draco recognized as that surrounding the manor grounds, and it wasn't long after that before they found themselves standing at the front gate. Just as they had when he'd visited the previous summer, the gates swung open at Draco's touch, and he was careful to shut them tightly behind him. The house loomed up in front of them, looking more than a bit creepy bathed in moonlight and the shadows of hovering clouds, and a light breeze ruffled the grass as they walked up the drive to the front door. Another touch of Draco's hand opened the front door, and a wave of Dumbledore's wand lit the torches in the front entryway.

"You have a lovely home, Mr. Black," Dumbledore remarked as he admired the sparkling chandelier overhead.

"Um…thank you," Draco said, a touch uncertainly. "Although I can't say I think of it as 'home,' even if it does belong to me."

"It is a bit hard to associate with a place you haven't intimately known for so long," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "And whether you choose to do so in the future is entirely up to you. Now, if you don't mind showing me to your drawing room…"

The drawing room was as beautiful as Draco remembered – plush carpeting, thick drapes drawn back to reveal the grounds, sumptuously upholstered furniture, and a fireplace to rival those in the house common rooms. As before, Dumbledore lit the torches, and he soon had a fire crackling merrily in the grate, popping as if it had been burning for hours.

"Best not forget to put that out before we leave," he said with a slight chuckle. He then began studying the room intently.

"Dobby said we're looking for a trapdoor beneath the rug?" He asked.

"Yes." Draco was already levitating furniture out of the way so as to be able to move said rug. When he tried to roll the rug aside, however, he found that he could only move it a few inches before meeting resistance.

"Ah…now I do believe that is our first clue that we are in the right place," Dumbledore said.

"Sir?"

"The rug – you cannot move it any further than that. I suspect that is our first line of defense against the Horcrux," Dumbledore said.

"How do we get past it?" Draco asked. "We need to be able to roll back the rug if we're going to access the trapdoor." Dumbledore stared at the rug for a long moment, muttering to himself.

"Ah…a crude method, but an effective one," he finally said. "I do believe the barrier wants payment." Before Draco could question him further, Dumbledore withdrew a short knife from within his robes and ran the blade across his palm. Bright red blood blossomed from the cut, and Dumbledore tipped his hand, allowing a few drops to fall onto the exposed backing of the carpet. The rug absorbed the offering, the bloodstains disappearing completely, and rolled back on its own to reveal the smooth expanse of stone flooring beneath.

"Voldemort would want to weaken anyone who attempted to retrieve his Horcruxes," Dumbledore explained calmly, now waving his wand over the floor. "A loss of blood would generally qualify…ah, yes, here we are." He stopped at a spot near the center of the newly exposed space and gestured for Draco to come forward. Draco frowned.

"There's nothing there, sir," he said.

"Ah, but I must respectfully correct you there, Mr. Black," Dumbledore assured him. With a wave of his wand, a beam of golden light drew the faint outline of a rectangle on the floor.

"Cleverly hidden, but nothing a few detection charms and a revealing spell can't fix," he said. "Now that you know where it is, you'll only need a revealing spell to find it again…but I've gone a bit off topic, now, haven't I? Our next step, of course, it to open the trapdoor, something which I suspect will require your assistance."

"I thought you said we were looking for something that _didn't _require a Malfoy hand to open?" Draco said, sounding confused. Dumbledore nodded.

"That is indeed what I thought at first, but now that we've seen how concealed this space is, I believe we'll need you to open it. Recall that Voldemort is quite skilled with the Unforgivable Curses and could therefore have easily commanded someone in your family to open it under the Imperius Curse – or I suspect a bit of actual Malfoy blood would do the trick as well, enabling him to access the hiding space without a second person present."

"So what do I need to do?" Draco asked.

"Just touch it, I think – the trapdoor itself seems devoid of curses and shouldn't harm you," Dumbledore replied. Draco looked doubtful, knowing full well what Voldemort was capable of, but then again, perhaps even he didn't have the power to enchant family-specific magical hiding spaces, and so Draco crouched down beside the still glowing outline and pressed his palm to the floor. There was a loud grating noise as the stone beneath Draco's fingers dropped into the floor an inch or so before sliding backwards, revealing an opening roughly a foot square. Inside was a small wooden chest engraved with runes, and Dumbledore crouched down beside Draco to examine it, aided by the light of his wand.

"Curious…do you take Ancient Runes, Draco?" he asked.

"Not anymore, no," Draco replied, somewhat regretfully. "Hermione's been showing me a bit from her own work every now and then, but I didn't score high enough on the O.W.L.s to continue this year."

"It's hard to tell without removing the box, but I think the runes continue onto its sides as well, and unless I'm very much mistaken, they tell us how to _open_ the box," Dumbledore said. "Of course, we must first figure out how to disassemble the spells preventing us from removing the box from the trapdoor in the first place…"

"What spells are those?" Draco asked.

"Oh, there are several – and I'm sure once I remove the first few, more will reveal themselves," Dumbledore said almost nonchalantly. "I have no doubt this will be a difficult task. Stand back, please."

Draco did as Dumbledore requested and watched as his headmaster began waving his wand in a series of intricate movements, streams of multicolored light dancing around the edge of the trapdoor opening so fluidly that they looked to be in water. Slowly, the lights began to disappear, presumably as the enchantments associated with them broke, but before they could all dissipate, Dumbledore suddenly jerked his wand back and stopped.

"Draco, do you remember what I told you before we left tonight, about obeying my every order?" he said sharply.

"Yes," Draco said slowly, unsure where this was going.

"I need you to leave the room – immediately."

"Sir?"

"I don't think I need your help any further – the Malfoy part of the enchantment was just on the trapdoor – but one of these spells has the potential to explode, and I don't want you in here when it does." Draco didn't miss Dumbledore's use of 'when' instead of 'if', and it made him hesitate. Would the Horcrux really blow up someone attempting to steal it?

"Mr. Black, now!" Dumbledore said. "And do _not_ come back into this room unless I tell you to, no matter what you hear – do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Draco had never heard Dumbledore speak so vehemently, and so he decided that the instructions must be of the utmost importance. He quickly exited the drawing room and shut the door, then cast a nifty little spell Hermione had found on the door so that he could both see and hear what Dumbledore was doing while staying true to his promise.

After mere minutes, Draco was beginning to regret casting that spell – yes, seeing _and_ hearing was far better than just hearing, but the difficult scene before him was hard to watch. Dumbledore crouched over the box, his brow deeply furrowed and soaked with sweat as the trapdoor threw up defense after defense. Draco saw jets of light that looked like Stunners, clouds of smoke in a poisonous shade of green, and the hulking, terrifying figure of a Dementor – the latter was so powerful that even Dumbledore's Patronus, a giant phoenix, had trouble fighting it off. The most curious defense, however, was the specter of a young girl, no more than Draco's age by the looks of her, with a sweet, angelic face and long hair held back by a wide ribbon. Her dress was youthful and feminine but decidedly old fashioned, and Draco couldn't help but wonder who she was...and how Dumbledore knew her. For it was clear the instant the apparition appeared that Dumbledore recognized the girl – his eyes widened and his knees practically buckled as he struggled to maintain his grip on his wand, his ruined hand shaking as he pointed it at the girl.

"No…please, no…I didn't…I never meant…"

The headmaster's words were the most horrifying of all – in all his years at Hogwarts, in all his encounters with the older wizard, Draco had never heard Dumbledore employ such a pleading, almost heartbroken tone. Who _was_ this girl?

After several long minutes of agonizing anticipation, during which Draco could see Dumbledore steadily weakening while the unknown girl merely smiled sweetly and occasionally shook her head, the girl suddenly vanished in a burst of bright light. Draco was forced to look away, scrunching his eyes shut against the sudden brightness, and when he finally looked back, he saw Dumbledore slumped on the floor in front of the trapdoor on his knees, shaking horribly. Draco had to force himself to stay put and not rush back into the room. Dumbledore didn't move for quite some time, and if Draco hadn't been able to see his trembling hands or see the tears on his face, he would've thought the headmaster was dead. Finally, however, Dumbledore reached into the trapdoor space, which emitted one final puff of smoke, this one purple, before removing the wooden box. A wave of his wand closed the trapdoor, and another flattened the rug and restored the furniture to its rightful places. Dumbledore then walked slowly to the drawing room door – Draco noticed immediately he was limping quite badly – and rejoined his young charge in the hall.

"We may return now, Draco," Dumbledore said, suddenly sounding very old indeed. "I have yet to translate all the runes on the box, but even if I had, I don't have the means to destroy the Horcrux here, so we shall return to the castle." He extinguished the torches and put out the fire before closing up the drawing room, and Draco removed the spell on the door, restoring it to its usual appearance.

"Can I help you at all, sir?" Draco asked hesitantly, not sure if his question was appropriate. Dumbledore merely nodded and accepted Draco's arm, and the two finished closing up the house. They were halfway down the drive when Draco's charmed coins heated, and he hastily withdrew his wand to read the message in the dim light:

_Death Eaters at Hogwarts – come quickly!_

"Professor, we-"

"I know," Dumbledore said quickly, briefly showing Draco his own Order coin before returning it to a pocket. "We must go, immediately." With a strength Draco didn't know was possible after what he'd just done, Dumbledore hurried down the driveway towards the gates, and as soon as Draco had locked them, they Apparated back to Hogsmeade. Even from the far end of the village, they could see the Dark Mark hovering high above the Astronomy tower and knew that the distress call was no joke.

"Albus…Albus!" a woman's voice called as a figure hurried towards them.

"My dear Rosmerta," Dumbledore replied as the figure came into view, though he kept his eyes on Hogwarts. "Have you a pair of brooms we could borrow? I'm afraid I must return to the castle as quickly as possible…"

"Yes, yes, of course," Madam Rosmerta replied, and she led them down the street to the Three Broomsticks, where she offered them two older but serviceable brooms.

"I shall repay you for my abrupt departure at my earliest convenience, Rosmerta," Dumbledore assured her. "Hurry, Draco!" Draco needed no further encouragement and mounted the offered broomstick, kicking off hard and following his headmaster back to the school as fast as the brooms would go. He felt the shifting wards as Dumbledore temporarily dismantled them so they could fly through, and he made for the Astronomy tower, bracing himself for what he might find. He was very relieved indeed to find the tower empty.

"Wand out, Draco, and put that cloak on," Dumbledore instructed. The tower was empty, yes, but they could hear the sounds of a fight going on downstairs, close enough that the duelers might actually be right outside the tower's entrance, and Draco knew that their opponents wouldn't be sticking with Stunners or trip jinxes.

_"Reducto!"_ someone shouted. There was the sound of splintering wood and a large crash as someone screamed, and they heard footsteps racing towards them.

_"Expelliarmus!"_

From beneath the cloak, Draco saw a wand go flying over the battlements and out of sight, and he was horrified to realize that it was Dumbledore's. Of course, Dumbledore was powerful enough not to need a wand to perform magic, but he was also exceptionally weak after their excursion and subsequent hasty flight, and Draco doubted he could cast so much as a _Lumos_ without help.

"Well, isn't this just sweet," a cold voice drawled, and Draco turned to see Theodore Nott standing in the doorway, a smirk on his face and the Dark Mark glinting off his expensive glasses as he tapped the tip of his wand against his open palm.

"Good evening, Mr. Nott," Dumbledore said pleasantly, though Draco could tell he was desperately trying to hide his feeble state. Nott snorted.

"Oh, I don't think you know how 'good' an evening it really is, _headmaster,"_ he sneered. "I've been waiting for this night for a long time. You see, tonight's the night we begin purging the school of Mudblood filth and all those pathetic individuals who support it, and what better place to start than at the top?" His eyes narrowed as he raised his wand. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

Draco had to cover his mouth to stifle his gasp as the poisonous green light hit Dumbledore right in the chest and the headmaster crumpled to the ground, unquestionably dead. Nott smirked again and raised his wand to the sky.

_"Morsmor-"_

_"Expelliarmus!"_

This time, it was Nott's wand that went flying, straight into the waiting hand of a livid Harry Potter, who stood in the shadows on the far side of the tower. As soon as Harry cast the spell, Draco ripped off the invisibility cloak and joined his brother, both boys' wands raised on their classmate.

"Explain yourself," Harry hissed.

"Oh, how cute," Nott drawled. "Do I really have to explain myself to a bunch of foolish Gryffindors? Honestly, _Draco_, and here I thought you were finally doing your house proud this year."

"What do you mean?" Draco demanded. Nott laughed, the sound cold and cruel in the night.

"And here I thought you understood Slytherin politics…you really were Sorted into the wrong house. Did you really think I asked you for help in Charms just for the fun of it? Perhaps it was so in the beginning, but once I got the idea…"

"What idea?" Harry interrupted, raising his wand higher. Even in the darkness, they could see Nott roll his eyes.

"The Vanishing Cabinet, of course," he said, his tone suggesting he was speaking to a small child. "I'd been looking for ways to off Dumbledore since the start of first term, of course, but that useless lump Slughorn didn't deliver the poisoned mead like he was supposed to…but then Peeves dropped that Vanishing Cabinet after class, and I knew that was the key. All I had to do was figure out where McGonagall had put it, learn where its twin was, and work out how to fix it – which I did, all thanks to your fabulous tutoring, my friend." He directed this last bit at Draco, who froze in wide-eyed horror.

"You son of a bitch!" Harry shouted. Draco was so shocked by Nott's words that it took him several seconds to realize that Harry and Nott were gone, and he quickly took off after them, jumping down several steps at a time before finding himself in a war zone. Members of Dumbledore's Army and the Order battled half a dozen Death Eaters, and Draco nearly tripped over a body lying sprawled in the middle of the corridor, face down in a pool of blood – he had no idea who it was and didn't dare stop to check. Bits of the ceiling rained down as a stray hex hit, and Draco ducked to avoid a particularly large piece as he pursued Harry and Nott through the fray.

"Retreat!" Nott shouted as he ran. "The deed is done – retreat!" One of the Death Eaters cackled with glee and began to follow Nott, Harry and Draco still in hot pursuit and shooting hexes whenever they got the chance. Draco ignored the stitch in his side and followed the other two teenagers all the way out onto the grounds.

"GET BACK HERE, YOU SCUM!" Harry roared as Nott continued to run.

"I think not, Potter!" Nott called back. "You see, I really don't want to be late for my initiation ceremony – that skull and snake will look quite pretty on my arm, don't you think? Let's see how 'ordered' your precious Order is now that their leader is dead!" Harry let out another roar of frustration and dove through the gates after Nott, but it was too late – one of the other Death Eaters had already grabbed Nott and Disapparated. Harry was too busy shouting to notice the cloaked figure behind him, but Draco saw and nearly tripped in his haste to warn his brother.

"HARRY!" he shouted. "WATCH OUT!" Harry turned and ducked, but the figure grabbed him by the arm, and soon they too were gone.

"NO!" Draco cried. He dropped to the ground and rolled out of the way of the remaining Death Eaters, who Disapparated with a series of loud 'pops', then rushed to the gates and frantically searched for any trace of his brother. When he came up with nothing, Draco fell to his knees again, this time unable to move as he began shaking uncontrollably.

_"Which I did, all thanks to your fabulous tutoring, my friend…"_

Draco barely noticed when someone crouched beside him, hauled him to his feet, and began helping him back to the castle. He barely registered his godfather's words as Snape tried to ask him what had happened. Try as he might, Draco couldn't get Nott's words out of his head, and he couldn't shake the fact that there might be some truth to them.

_"Let's see how 'ordered' your precious Order is now that their leader is dead!"_

Yes, Dumbledore was dead, Harry had just been taken somewhere and was probably in serious trouble, the bloody corridors meant others had been badly injured or killed…and it was all Draco's fault.

* * *

**A/N: Well then. What did we think of that...**

**Thank you for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading! Just a few more chapters of part 6, &amp; then we're on to part 7 - hope you'll all stick around!**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! :)**


	23. Brothers in Arms

Snape was all but carrying Draco by the time they reached the hospital wing – the younger Slytherin was barely able to stand on his own, never mind walk, so preoccupied was he with everything that had just happened. No matter what Draco did, the image of Dumbledore's lifeless form sprawled on the floor of the Astronomy tower wouldn't go away, and Nott's cruel taunts continued to play in his mind like a broken record. Snape had tried to get him to talk but once – just one look at the boy's clenched jaw had told the Potions master that his godson wouldn't speak until he was ready, and so they finished their journey in complete silence.

The hospital wing was more crowded than Draco had ever seen it, but thankfully, it looked like most of those present nursed only minor injuries at most. Ron Weasley occupied one hospital bed, his left leg bandaged from ankle to knee, and Madam Pomfrey was dabbing a strong-smelling ointment on a nasty cut on Hermione's arm. Ginny sat at the foot of Hermione's bed, covered in scrapes and bruises but otherwise unharmed, and Luna and Neville talked quietly together nearby. The others were all Hogwarts teachers and Order members – McGonagall, Flitwick, Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Arthur, Fred, and George Weasley. The bed at the far end of the ward had its curtains drawn, and Draco could hear quiet sniffling as if someone was crying – had the bloodied body he'd nearly tripped over been one of theirs, then? He didn't have time to ponder this further, however, as Ginny had spotted him.

"Draco!" she cried, jumping from her perch and racing over to hug him tightly. "Thank Merlin you're alright – Harry and Hermione filled me in on what you were doing, and everything just go so rushed and confusing when the Death Eaters attacked." She hugged him again, then frowned when she noticed the sorrowful, almost guilty expression on Draco's face.

"Draco?" she asked. "What's the matter? And have you seen Harry? I saw him running after Nott a while ago, but…"

"Harry's missing," Draco interrupted her.

"What?" Ginny asked.

"Harry's missing," Draco repeated, sounding agitated. "He left the grounds when he followed Nott, and someone grabbed onto him and Disapparated."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" George demanded. "Let's organize a rescue mission! If you take us to the spot where he disappeared, I'll bet we can find a magical trace and follow it – Dumbledore should know how to do something like that, shouldn't he?" Draco's already pale complexion went white – he really didn't want to be the one to break the news, but he was the only one in the room who knew what had happened.

"He can't, George," Draco said quietly.

"What do you mean? Of course he can, he's bloody bril-"

"He can't because he's dead!" Draco snapped. "Dumbledore's dead, alright? Dumbledore's dead, and it's all my bloody fault!"

"What the hell are you on about?" Fred demanded.

"I'm not lying, I saw it happen!" Draco practically shouted. His hands were shaking badly, and he knew his legs wouldn't support his weight much longer.

"Mr. Black, sit down immediately," Madam Pomfrey commanded, having finished tending to Hermione. Draco didn't have the strength to disobey and sank onto the nearest bed, which was directly across from Ron's.

"Drink," the mediwitch said, pressing a vial full of what Draco recognized as Calming Draught into his hands. Once more, Draco obeyed without hesitation, and he felt the potion's soothing effects almost instantly.

"Draco, do you think you could start from the beginning?" Mr. Weasley asked kindly. "Hermione already explained Professor Trelawney's prediction, but it seems like we're still missing some key information here." Draco swallowed heavily and nodded.

"Yes, you are," he replied softly. "Dumbledore and I were…away from Hogwarts this evening, but we returned as soon as we got the distress call on our Order coins. We flew back from Hogsmeade and landed on the Astronomy tower, and not even a minute later, Nott showed up and…" Draco stopped talking and dropped his gaze to the floor, not wanting to see the others' reactions to his tale.

"Nott killed Dumbledore?" Ginny all but whispered, her brown eyes wide. Draco nodded again.

"Yeah. No other curse looks quite like the Killing Curse, does it?" he said. Snape and McGonagall immediately left the room, no doubt off to check on the truth of Draco's story, while everyone else just stared at Draco in shock.

"I always thought he was an arrogant arse, but I never thought…" Neville trailed off as if unsure of how to finish his sentence, but Ron quickly cut in.

"An arrogant arse, Neville? He's a bloody murderer!" Draco looked up just in time to catch Ron staring at him angrily. "And weren't _you_ tutoring him this year?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Hermione demanded sharply.

"Well it's a bit odd, isn't it?" Ron retorted. "I thought Black hated Nott as much of the rest of us, but then all of a sudden they're working together?" Draco didn't miss Ron's use of his surname and surreptitiously drew his wand.

"Tutoring someone in Charms doesn't help make them a murderer, you moron," Ginny said.

"It does if that's how Nott got so good at his spells!" Ron spat.

"Ron, the Killing Curse isn't taught in Charms class, you know that…"

"But spells similar to those needed to fix a Vanishing Cabinet are," Draco interrupted quietly. All heads whipped around to stare at him.

"What did you say?" Ginny whispered.

"That's how Nott did it – he found out where the broken Vanishing Cabinet was and fixed it. He didn't say where its mate was, but it's obviously somewhere those Death Eaters could get to easily. And I…I _did_ tutor him in Charms this year, and I probably taught him some of the spells he needed. Before he ran, he said he couldn't have done it without my help." Draco's voice grew steadily softer and more ashamed as he spoke, until his last words were barely more than a whisper.

There was a long pause following Draco's declaration, and then Ron broke it:

"You ruddy bastard!" Before anyone could react, Ron launched himself out of his bed, his wand pointed at Draco. Draco only just managed to duck as Ron threw the first spell.

"Mr. Weasley, what do you think you're doing?" Madam Pomfrey demanded, but Ron didn't hear her – he was too angry to focus on anything other than his quarry, and Draco repelled a Stunner with a quick Shield Charm. The others looked like they wanted to intervene, but the space was so small, and Draco and Ron were dueling so fiercely, that they risked being hit themselves if they tried.

"You gave him the tools he needed, you prick!" Ron shouted, throwing another spell. "I knew there was a reason I never fully trusted you, you Slytherins are all the same…"

_"Ron!"_

_"Stupefy!"_

"Stop it!"

_ "Impedimenta!"_

_"Petrificus-"_

_"SECTUMSEMPRA!"_

Snape and McGonagall reentered the ward just as Ron's last spell hit Draco square in the chest, ripping several angry gashes across his torso and instantly staining his uniform shirt with scarlet blood. Draco collapsed backwards onto his bed, gritting his teeth in pain and trying not to pass out, and Hermione tried to launch herself at Ron but was held back by the twins.

"Let me GO, damn you!" she shouted. "Ugh, where's my-"

"Ron, what the hell did you do?" Ginny shrieked. Angry dialogue flew from all directions until Professor McGonagall finally shouted, "Enough!" Everyone quieted at once. In the absence of the shouting, they could hear Snape murmuring a song-like incantation as he moved his wand over Draco's injuries, the remnants of the blond's tattered shirt ripped open and cast to the side to reveal the ugly mess beneath.

"Mr. Weasley, of all the absolutely-" Professor McGonagall began, but Snape cut her off.

"Minerva, stop. He might be a Gryffindor, but this one's mine to deal with." McGonagall must've sensed that Snape knew something she didn't, because she did not object. Snape turned his full attention to Ron, who gulped.

"Mr. Weasley," Snape said, employing his most intimidating tone. "I suggest you answer me truthfully, and answer me now – where did you learn that spell?" Behind Snape, they could see Draco – he was unconscious, but the steady rise and fall of his chest showed that he was only sleeping, and he seemed to be doing so peacefully.

"I…" Ron couldn't say which was worse – Snape towering over him, or the murderous look in the still struggling Hermione's eyes.

_"Now,_ Mr. Weasley."

"I found it in a book," Ron finally whispered.

"And which book was that?" Hermione hissed. "I wasn't aware you were reading up on Dark spells for fun, Ronald!"

"It wasn't a Dark Arts book," Ron said.

"But then-"

"Miss Granger, quiet," Snape interjected. "I know _exactly_ which book that spell came from, and if Mr. Weasley knows what's good for him, he will bring it to my office the _instant_ he is released from this ward." He gave Ron a pointed look, and Ron, still looking terrified, nodded. Snape then turned to McGonagall.

"Minerva, I must be going," he said. "There are…things I must see to, the sooner the better. If there are other things Mr. Black needs to know about tonight, they must wait until he wakes – I've given him painkillers and a Sleeping Draught, and it's essential he rest undisturbed so he doesn't toss and reopen his wounds."

"Be safe," Professor McGonagall replied. Snape nodded once more and swept from the room.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, explain yourself," Ginny demanded as soon as Snape was gone.

"Professor Slughorn gave it to me – the book," Ron replied, swallowing audibly. "When…on the first day of class, he let some of us borrow books, you know, those of us who got Es on our O.W.L.s and thought we wouldn't be continuing with Potions…erm…well, that's the book he gave me."

"You're telling me you found that spell in a _Potions_ textbook?" Hermione snapped in disbelief.

"The whole book was covered in notes. I could barely read most of them – could barely read most of the actual text, to be honest. I ignored most of it, but I did find some spells and wrote them down. That's all I did, I swear. Dunno whose book it was – it said 'Property of the Half-Blood Prince' or something like that on the back, but there wasn't a name in it or anything."

"Ron, did you learn _nothing_ after the fiasco with the Chamber of Secrets?" Ginny demanded. "You didn't know who that diary belonged to either, and look what happened there – you were lucky nobody died! And yet you still thought it was ok to write down a bunch of unknown spells and test them out? How thick are you?"

"Gin, the others I tested were all harmless, really-"

"But you didn't know that when you tested them, did you? I'm not going to ask _what_ you tested them on, but what if one of them had actually been harmful, and you'd hurt someone?" She paused to glare at her brother. "Oh wait…that's exactly what just happened, isn't it?"

"Ginny, that's enough," her father warned. "The last thing we need tonight is more fighting. But Ron, we will be having words about this when you get home, and don't think I'll be disagreeing with whatever punishment Snape sees fit to give you." Ron hung his head in shame.

"I didn't mean to hurt him," he said quietly. "Not like that."

"You still wanted to do some damage," Hermione retorted, sounding thoroughly disgusted. "After everything we've done, everything Draco's been through with us and done with us, and you still don't trust him? It's horrible enough that he's clearly blaming himself for everything that happened tonight, he doesn't need you throwing that back in his face!"

"Speaking of everything that happened tonight…" Mr. Weasley looked to Professor McGonagall, who nodded solemnly.

"Albus Dumbledore is dead," she said in little more than a whisper. Gasps rang through the ward and several people began to cry. Minerva herself removed a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes before continuing.

"I honestly cannot say if Hogwarts will remain open after this," she said. "Dumbledore considered closing the school four years ago when the Chamber of Secrets was opened, and this – Death Eaters in Hogwarts itself, murder on school grounds – is far worse. We'll be sending the students home as soon as possible."

"What are we going to do about Harry?" Neville asked. "We can't just leave him with whoever's got him, can we?"

"No, Mr. Longbottom, but I'm afraid there isn't much we can do," Kingsley said. "None of you noticed because you were too preoccupied with what Mr. Black had to say, but I sent for a team of Aurors to examine the grounds for any hint as to where Harry might have gone – they found nothing. Whoever took Harry was exceptionally careful about it, and unless we somehow find another clue, he's on his own."

* * *

Harry groaned as he landed hard in the middle of a field, his head and upper body colliding with the unyielding earth beneath. He felt disoriented and dizzy and sat up much slower than he would've liked, considering he had no idea where he was or who had brought him here. He did, however, notice that his wand was missing, and as he'd tossed Nott's wand aside on top of the Astronomy tower and wasn't carrying his knife, he had no weapon.

"Well, well…Harry Potter." The voice was soft but menacing, and Harry scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could, whirling to face…

_"You,"_ he breathed, trying his hardest not to show his fear. The hooded figure was hooded no more, and Harry could see chalk white skin, blood red eyes, and slits where nostrils should have been. The…_creature_ before him was far more grotesque than the version Harry had witnessed in the Pensieve, but there was no mistaking his identity.

"Me," Voldemort replied, baring his teeth. _"Such_ a pleasure to see you." He twirled a wand between long, skeletally thin fingers, and Harry was disappointed when he didn't recognize it. Where was _his_ wand?

"I can't say the same for you, I'm afraid," Harry replied. He frantically tried to remember everything Snape had taught him during Occlumency lessons and prayed with everything he had that he could block a mental assault if Voldemort came after him that way. He knew too much about too many important things to come out of such an encounter alive – of course, he knew he had a fair chance of dying tonight anyway, given his captor, but if he had to die, he'd rather do so with Voldemort remaining ignorant of others' knowledge of his Horcruxes.

"Pity," Voldemort said with a sneer. "I've been waiting a long time for this."

"For what?" Harry spat. "Are you going to kill me?"

"No, I'm not going to kill you – not right away, at least," Voldemort said with an eerie chuckle. "I've a proposition for you, Potter."

"And what's that?" Harry asked warily. He had no idea why Voldemort was engaging him in conversation, but the reasoning couldn't be good.

"I've always been curious," Voldemort said softly, "as to how a boy such as yourself has thwarted me so many times – you left your home alive that Halloween night, you bested my younger self four years ago, you didn't touch the Portkey Viktor Krum so kindly set up during the Triwizard Tournament…was that all due to skill, I wonder, or just dumb luck? And now I find myself wondering, what would happen if we were to duel?"

"You…you want me to _duel_ you?" Harry gasped, his eyebrows raised.

"Precisely. I think it shall be a most amusing encounter before I finally kill you," Voldemort said. "Now, if you'll be so kind as to pick up your wand, we'll begin." A flash of light from his own wand illuminated Harry's, which had fallen to the grass not fifteen feet away. Harry hastened to scoop it up, never once removing Voldemort from his line of sight.

"Where are we?" Harry demanded as he raised his wand. He had no idea what sort of spell he might cast, but the familiar holly was at least comforting in his hand.

"Nowhere of consequence," Voldemort replied. "And do you really think I'd tell you where we are and risk you contacting your little friends? I think not, Potter. Now, be a good opponent and bow."

"No," Harry said immediately.

"What?" Voldemort hissed.

"I said, _no,"_ Harry repeated. "I will _never_ bow to the likes of you."

"Impertinent brat." Voldemort raised his wand, and Harry felt his spine curve without his permission, forcing him into a bow. He fought it off as quickly as he could, his expression furious, and raised his wand.

_"Expelliarmus!"_

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

Harry wasn't surprised that Voldemort's first choice was the Killing Curse, but he _was_ surprised when the jet of green light never reached him – instead, it connected with the red of the Disarming Charm and created a single beam of brightest gold, linking the two wands. That beam split into many smaller beams, arcing over their heads until they were surrounded by a large golden cage, and smooth beads of light began moving along the arc connecting the two wands. Harry suspected he didn't want those beads to touch his wand, and so he forced them towards Voldemort with all of his concentration, the beads eventually connecting with Voldemort's wand.

Whatever Harry was expecting, it wasn't for a large shape to emerge from Voldemort's wand. At first it was too blurry to distinguish, but then Harry could see a head…a torso…sweet Merlin, it was a _person._ The…ghost of one? No, not exactly – it looked too solid to be a ghost, but it was the same pearly-white color…following that person came a second, and then a third…on and on it went. The ghosts stared at Harry, some whispering things in languages he didn't understand. What was he supposed to do? A moment later, however, another body emerged, and Harry gasped as he recognized the young man standing before him.

"Cedric!" he said. "What on earth…"

"Hey, Harry," Cedric Diggory replied, flashing him a small smile. "Good to see you again."

"Cedric...what's going on? Er…what are you?" Harry asked. Cedric chuckled.

"I guess you could say I'm a memory," he said. "An echo of my living self. Voldemort killed me, you see, as well as all these other folks." He gestured to the other opaque people floating next to him.

"But then that means…" Harry looked at the memory people, who'd continued to stream out of Voldemort's wand as he and Cedric spoke. Voldemort himself looked both furious and terrified, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what had happened to make their wands react like this. So far, he hadn't recognized any of the other people, but then something happened that nearly made his heart stop. A tall, thin man emerged from Voldemort's wand, and if Harry didn't know any better, he'd say he was looking at himself – the man had the same wild hair and glasses, and the same mischievous grin.

"Harry," the man said, giving him a fond smile. Harry felt a lump in his throat.

"Dad…"

"Yeah – although I didn't get to be 'Dad' for nearly as long as I would've liked," James replied with a frown. He ran his fingers through his hair in almost the exact same manner Harry did. "I'm proud of you, Harry – so proud. Of everything you've done, and everything you're going to do."

"Everything I'm going to do?" Harry repeated.

"Well, you're going to get out of here, aren't you?" James asked.

"I…Dad, how am I supposed to do that?" Harry exclaimed.

"You're showing a disappointing lack of Marauder education here," James said, raising his eyebrows. Harry snorted.

"I do still live with Padfoot, you know," he said pointedly. "But need I remind you who's at the other end of this wand?"

"Oh, forget him," James scoffed. "We're going to help you, of course."

"How? And what the bloody hell is going on here?"

"Now _that_ sounds more like Padfoot," James said with a chuckle. "Give him my best, will you? Anyway, this is what you call _Priori Incantatem – _basically, your wand is forcing old Voldie's to regurgitate every spell it's ever cast, in reverse order. There are so many people here because these are all people Voldemort's killed."

"Which is why Mum's not here, because Voldemort wasn't the one who killed her," Harry said.

"No – she said it was some bloke called Dolohov. Quite frankly, I don't care who it was, you better make sure he goes the same way as Voldemort – nobody gets to kill my wife and get away with it. She sends her love to all of you, by the way." Harry laughed a little at his father's joke but suddenly found himself unable to speak as the painful memory of losing his mother returned.

"Erm…listen, Harry, as much as I'd love to continue our chat, we don't have much time," James said then. "Voldemort's terrified of what's happening, but I can't imagine he'll stay that way forever, so we have to take advantage of it while we can. When I say so, you must break the line binding your wands together."

"Break it?" Harry repeated. "But then won't he be able to cast another spell at me?"

"Not right away," James replied. "We can hold him off for a bit, but I can't guarantee you more than thirty seconds or so, which is why as soon as you break that bond, you _must_ get yourself out of here."

"But…"

"No buts, Harry, just do it!" Harry nodded.

"Alright."

"Good lad – I love you and I'm proud of you. On the count of three then: one, two, three!"

Harry yanked upwards as hard as he could, severing the connection. The golden threads began to vanish, and the memory people swarmed Voldemort, blocking him from Harry's view. A few of the memory people had already begun to disappear, however, and Harry knew he couldn't just stand there and wait. He turned and ran as fast as he could, putting several hundred yards' distance between himself and Voldemort, then turned around again and braced himself for what he was about to do.

"Love you too, Dad," he said quietly. He took a deep breath and braced himself.

"I've got to get back to Hogwarts," he muttered, and then, concentrating hard on Destination, Determination, and Deliberation, he turned on the spot and vanished.

Harry fell to his knees and retched as soon as he landed in Hogsmeade – he knew he was lucky his only problem was feeling sick, since he'd been Merlin knew how far away just moments ago and had only ever Apparated a few feet on his own before. Aside from his churning stomach, however, he'd done it – he'd successfully Apparated himself out of danger and could see the lights of Hogwarts twinkling in the distance. Not wanting to waste any more time – a glance at his watch told him it was going on two in the morning – he stood up and began to jog down the High Street. He was dismayed but not surprised to find the castle's front gates securely locked. Thinking quickly, he summoned the warm feeling of his friends and family and cast his Patronus, the little mongoose soon racing away with the message that he'd returned. Harry bent over and braced his hands on his knees while he waited, thoroughly worn out from the night's ordeal and still feeling ill from his impromptu long-distance Apparition. His vision began to cloud over as the full extent of the last several hours set in, and he barely made it through the gates with Professor McGonagall before he succumbed to the exhaustion and collapsed.

* * *

**A/N: And now we know where Harry went...&amp; Ron's temper got the better of him. Whoops.**

**A couple of (rather lovely) reviews have brought to my attention an extreme oversight on my part - in the very first A/N of this story, when I said that Sirius' story is my own, I meant that it was my own creation, not that it paralleled my own life. It didn't even occur to me when I typed it that it could be read that way, &amp; I'm truly sorry for the confusion - it's amazing what omitting a single word can do, huh? I have never lost a lover the way Sirius did &amp; hopefully never will - I have also changed that A/N so it says what I actually meant. Again, I take all credit for that one.**

**Thank you for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading! Hopefully you all got chapter 22 - the email alert didn't send until at least 10 hours after I posted the chapter, so I'm not sure what happened there. In any case, only 1 or 2 more chapters of this one, &amp; then we're on to part 7.**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; enjoy! To all my fellow Americans - Happy 4th of July! :)**


	24. Picking Up the Pieces

Hermione felt a distinct sense of déjà vu the next morning when she woke to see Ginny's red hair peeking up from under the covers of the cot beside hers – it was so like the night they'd spent in the hospital wing back in her second year, the night Colin Creevey had been Petrified. And yet, in spite of the immediate similarity, the situation was at once totally different, not least because they hadn't come out unscathed this time around. Madam Pomfrey had been kept busy tending to all sorts of injuries the night before, and if Draco was to be believed, then Dumbledore was…Hermione shuddered. She believed Draco, of course she did, but at the same time, she didn't want to. She didn't want to believe that the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared was dead, because the ramifications of that statement were too scary for any time of day, never mind when she was still feeling very vulnerable and sleepy.

Hermione then rolled onto her side and peered across the dimly lit hospital wing to Draco's cot, which was across from Ginny's and therefore within easy sight. Draco was still unconscious, but Hermione could make out the steady rise and fall of his chest, which she took as a good sign. His blanket had ridden down a bit over the course of the night, revealing the thick bandages encasing his torso, and Hermione found herself unconsciously growling lowly in the back of her throat. She was annoyed by the fact that Ron clearly still held prejudices against Slytherins despite having fought extensively alongside several of them in D.A. meetings, but what really made her mad was that he thought it was ok to test an unknown spell on another person. It didn't matter that he'd cast it in the heat of the moment; their professors had lectured them on the dangers of unfamiliar spells more often than Hermione could count, and even in those cases, the students had at least known what the new spell was supposed to do. If the look on Ron's face when Draco had collapsed was anything to go by, Ron had had absolutely no idea what that particular spell did.

"Herms?"

Hermione pulled herself out of her mental tirade and returned her attention to the cot beside hers. Ginny was curled up in a ball, her brown eyes sleepy as she gazed at her friend, but she was awake nevertheless.

"Hey, Gin," Hermione said softly. "You sleep alright?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose," Ginny whispered back. "Anyone else come in after I fell asleep?"

"No, just Harry," Hermione said. True to her promise, she hadn't been able to sleep knowing that one of her boys was outside the safety of Hogwarts, but instead of waiting up for Draco as she'd originally suggested, she found herself waiting for Harry. It was almost two in the morning when Professor McGonagall had arrived in the hospital wing levitating an unconscious Harry, and it had taken every bit of strength Hermione possessed not to leap out of bed and clutch her friend's form to her while demanding to know what was wrong. Instead, Hermione had sat back against her pillows and listened as Professor McGonagall had explained what she knew to everyone who was still awake – Harry's Patronus had appeared in her office minutes earlier, and he'd barely made it through the school's front gates before he'd passed out. After a quick examination, Madam Pomfrey had declared that Harry was exhausted but otherwise unharmed, and everyone had gone to sleep feeling far better than they'd had only moments before. They still didn't know what had happened to Harry or where he'd gone, but Hermione suspected they'd find out when everyone finally awoke.

"So everyone's accounted for, at least," Ginny murmured.

"Yeah." Hermione yawned and stretched before propping herself up against her pillows. "I still don't understand half of what happened last night. It was all so confusing."

"I think we'll have a better idea once we've heard what Harry and Draco have to say," Ginny replied. She paused and glanced around the ward to make sure they were the only ones awake, then added in a much lower tone, "Do you think they found it, then? Draco and…Dumbledore?" Hermione bit her lip.

"I really don't know," she said. "It's possible, I think – they were gone for a few hours – but then, maybe they ran into trouble and _couldn't_ come back right away? Some sort of trap at the manor?"

"I don't think so," Ginny replied with a shake of her head. "Snape reset all the wards on the property, remember? Didn't you tell me one of the reasons Dumbledore asked Draco to go with him was because the wards will only allow people through with Draco's express permission? If even Dumbledore couldn't get through those wards without help, I don't think the Death Eaters would be able to, either."

"You're probably right," Hermione conceded. "My brain's just creating all of these wild scenarios because it doesn't know the truth, and it's worrying me."

"I'm sure you'll feel better once they've woken up and told their stories," Ginny said soothingly. "How's your arm?"

"Much better," Hermione said. It was still bandaged, but the wrapping was more to protect it from irritation during the first night after its healing than anything else, as Madam Pomfrey had completely healed the wound long before Hermione fell asleep.

"We all got so lucky," Ginny whispered. "Well, except for…" She trailed off and nodded towards the far end of the ward, where the last bed was still curtained from view. Hermione nodded solemnly.

The girls continued their quiet conversation as the sun slowly rose, and one by one, the other occupants of the ward began to waken. Madam Pomfrey immediately began fussing over each of them in turn as soon as she noticed they were up. While the teenagers were enjoying breakfast in bed, the Order members who'd fought with them the night before returned and updated them on the latest news, which wasn't much – nobody had managed to figure out where Nott and the Death Eaters had gone upon fleeing Hogwarts, nor did anyone know what it was about the Room of Requirement that had allowed the perpetrators access to Hogwarts in the first place. The only new information was that Pansy Parkinson had also disappeared, and none of her roommates knew where she'd gone or when she'd left.

"She's probably with Nott," Ginny said at once. "I mean, she is his girlfriend, isn't she?"

"Yes, but why would that lead to her disappearance?" Hermione asked with a frown. "She wasn't amongst the fighters last night, so why would she have to leave so suddenly?"

"It doesn't make sense," Tonks agreed. "I say there's something going on there we've missed."

"Pansy's spiteful and nasty, but you're right – that doesn't make sense," a new voice croaked. All eyes turned to the bed across from Ginny, where Draco was rubbing sleep from his eyes and attempting to sit up.

"Don't move, dear," Madam Pomfrey commanded as she quickly rushed to his side. "I need to examine you first." Draco, who if his expression was anything to go by was still at the very least uncomfortable, fell back onto the pillows without complaint and allowed the matron to strip off his bandages. She busied herself checking him over, muttering incantations and studying the associated data projected above her patient. Seemingly satisfied, she applied a salve to his wounds and helped him sit up before bringing him a tray of breakfast. Now that the bandages were gone, the others could see the thin red lines crisscrossing Draco's pale skin, the scars shiny thanks to the layer of medicine working to reduce them. Draco took a long drink from his water glass before meeting Hermione's eyes and smiling slightly.

"We match, Lotte," he said quietly, gesturing to his scars. Ginny chuckled in spite of herself, understanding Draco's reference to Hermione's own scar, while Hermione herself just smiled and shook her head.

"I suppose we do, Dragon," she said. "How are you feeling?" Draco swallowed a mouthful of eggs and shrugged.

"I've been better," he admitted. "I still feel like I could sleep all day, and I'm really hoping someone will tell me last night was all just a horrible dream, but this" – he paused and motioned to his chest once more, then to the ward in general – "pretty much disproves that theory, doesn't it?"

"I'm afraid so," Mr. Weasley said. "You all went through quite an ordeal, from what I understand, and I don't even know the half of it – do you think you'll be up for sharing your portion of the tale in a little while?"

"I s'pose you'll want to hear mine as well?" Harry's sleep-tousled voice chimed in. The dark-haired boy rolled over and pulled his glasses on, yawning widely as he attempted to flatten his hair.

"Oh, Harry, you're awake!" Hermione exclaimed. "You looked awful when Professor McGonagall brought you in last night, I was so worried!"

"I'm fine, Maya," Harry reassured her. "Tired, but alright."

"I think it's best if we hear the whole tale from the beginning," Professor McGonagall said briskly as Madam Pomfrey checked Harry over and provided him with a breakfast tray. "I don't think anyone here knows everything that happened last night, and I daresay things will make quite a bit more sense when we have all the facts."

"If we're starting at the beginning, then I need to go first," Draco said, setting down his fork. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and began to speak. "Professor Dumbledore requested a meeting in his office after dinner. He had reason to believe that something of value to Voldemort" – here Draco ignored the flinches and gasps at his use of the name – "was hidden in Malfoy Manor, my ancestral home. After the incident with Krum last summer, Snape adjusted and strengthened the wards around the manor so that no one can enter the property without my express permission – in other words, I need to be physically present to bring anyone new through the wards."

"And the headmaster felt it necessary to retrieve this…object in the middle of the night during a school term?" McGonagall questioned sharply. "Why?"

"I don't know," Draco confessed. "All he said was that he wanted to do it last night, and would I please go with him. We left Hogwarts at ten o'clock and returned around midnight."

"And what happened in the interim?"

"I think this is where we come in," Hermione said, gesturing towards herself and Harry. "Draco told us where he was going and why before he left, and Harry and I promised to wait up until he and Dumbledore returned. We were watching…that is, we had a way to…"

"You had the Marauder's Map," Lupin said helpfully. When several people looked at him in puzzlement, he explained, "It's a map of Hogwarts that shows where everyone is in real time."

"A creation of Sirius, James, Peter, and yourself, no doubt," Professor McGonagall said drily. Lupin pinked a little and nodded.

"Yes, it is."

"I shan't ask how this map came to be in Mr. Potter's hands for now," the Scottish witch said. "I'm sure it's a tale I'd rather not hear anyway. Miss Granger, please continue." Hermione blushed.

"Er…yes. Well, Harry and I were watching the map, waiting for Draco's return. We'd been waiting for just over an hour when we saw a name appear on the map outside the Room of Requirement – it was Theodore Nott. Except he wasn't alone – he had a number of people with him, and while we didn't recognize all of the names, the ones we did were known Death Eaters. That's when we sent out the distress call via the coins. We sent one through the D.A. coins as well, which is why Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna joined us – I think we would've had more help if it hadn't been so late, but most people probably don't keep those coins on their person while they sleep."

"And after you sent out the message?" Tonks asked.

"We left Gryffindor Tower and came to meet all of you," Hermione said. "And you all know what happened after that."

"Well, I don't," Draco reminded her. "What happened?"

"Remember that lucky potion I won from Slughorn back in September?" Hermione asked. When Draco nodded, she continued, "Harry, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Ron and I all took a sip, and I really think it saved our lives – there were horrible curses flying all over the place, but none of us suffered much damage, except for Ron's leg and my arm, but even those injuries were far less brutal than they could've been."

"But someone died," Draco cut in. "I tripped over a body when I ran off after Harry and Nott – who was it?"

"It wasn't a body," Lupin said, his normally calming expression suddenly dark and forbidding. "One of the Death Eaters got hit by a rebounding Killing Curse, but you tripped over Bill."

"Bill Weasley?" Draco asked. "But…what happened? There was so much blood…"

"Fenrir Greyback happened," Lupin almost growled. For a moment, the teenagers could see Lupin's inner wolf clearly on his face. "Greyback is a werewolf, the same one who infected me when I was a child. However, unlike most werewolves, who only attack at the full moon, Greyback takes pleasure in biting however many people he can, no matter what day it is. He's responsible for an alarming percentage of Britain's werewolf population, and he will continue attacking as long as no one stops him."

"And Greyback bit Bill?" Harry asked in shock.

"He certainly attacked him," Lupin replied grimly. He drew back the curtains around the ward's furthest bed, and the teenagers gasped when they caught sight of the body laying there. Bill's once handsome face was completely covered in savage scars, some so deep they looked like crevasses gouged into his skin. The damage made Draco's injuries look like nothing more than a few childish scrapes. Beside him sat Fleur Delacour, her head bowed over their intertwined fingers and her silvery hair obscuring her face. Harry felt a pang of deep sympathy for the French witch when he recalled that the pair had been dating for roughly a year.

"So is he a…" Harry couldn't bring himself to finish the question.

"We're not sure," Lupin replied quietly. He made to close the curtains, but a soft voice murmured, _"Non_ – leave zem open." Fleur looked up then, her deep blue eyes sad but fierce.

"Eet ees too early to tell what will 'appen to Bill, 'Arry," she said. They could all see the remnants of tear tracks on her face, but her voice was steady. "Last night was not ze full moon, and so we theenk Bill will not be a full werewolf, but 'e might show some traits – mood swings, per'aps, or eating rare or raw meat. We do not know."

"I'm sorry, Fleur," Harry said. Fleur shook her head earnestly.

"Do not be sorry," she replied. "Zese scars show Bill's bravery, every one of zem, and I am proud to be beside 'im."

"Bill was the only severe injury on our side – Hermione was right when she said we were lucky," Lupin said. "Now, is there anything else we need to know?"

Harry and Draco continued the tale from there, Draco explaining what happened at the manor without giving away just what they were after or why, and Harry adding the details of Dumbledore's murder, including their conversation with Nott afterwards and the revelation about the Vanishing Cabinet. He then told everyone about his removal from Hogwarts' grounds and his subsequent duel with Voldemort.

"You fought Voldemort?" Lupin asked sharply.

"Well…no, not exactly," Harry confessed. He then explained what had happened when they had cast their first spells, including his conversation with his father.

_"Priori Incantatem,"_ Hermione murmured. Harry looked at her in surprise.

"You've heard of it?" he asked.

"That was the spell Mr. Diggory used on our wands – you remember, when we got caught in the wood at the Quidditch World Cup?" Hermione said. "It proved the last spell we'd all used was a _Lumos_ charm."

"But in that case, the wand tips were touching, and he recited that exact incantation," Mr. Weasley said with a frown. "Did anything like that happen last night, Harry?"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "We both tried to cast spells, but instead of reaching their targets, they collided halfway, and Voldemort's wand started…how did my dad put it? 'Regurgitating every spell it's ever cast, in reverse order'."

"That definitely sounds like a word James would use," Lupin muttered, rolling his eyes.

"But that doesn't make sense," Professor McGonagall cut in. _"Priori Incantatem_ doesn't connect two wands like you described, not to such an extent – why would your wands have reacted that way?"

"I have no idea, Professor," Harry admitted with a shrug. "But it probably saved my life, in all honesty."

"Did you ever find what you were after, Draco?" Tonks asked suddenly. "At the manor?"

"We did," Draco replied, and turned to McGonagall. "Professor, if you happen to find a carved wooden box, could you please bring it to me as soon as possible? It's about this big." He mimed the approximate dimensions with his hands. "Dumbledore had it with him when we returned from Wiltshire, and it's very important that I get it back."

"I'll do my best, Mr. Black," McGonagall promised.

The conversation and speculation continued until lunchtime, at which point Professor McGonagall excused herself, stating arrangements for Dumbledore's funeral and the students' early departure as her reasons for leaving. The rest of the Order dispersed as well, save for Fleur who refused to leave Bill's bedside. As Draco still needed regular doses of blood-replenishing potion, Madam Pomfrey forbade him from leaving the hospital wing, and though Ron had to leave to meet with Snape and Neville and Luna wanted some air, the others decided to stay. Keeping Draco company was a far more appealing prospect than answering awkward or uncomfortable questions from their housemates, who were bound to be curious about the previous evening's events and no doubt knew by now which particular students had been involved – the Hogwarts grapevine was, after all, notorious for spreading gossip faster than anyone thought possible. Dobby was more than happy to provide them with a pack of playing cards at Harry's request, and the group spent the afternoon playing games while they chatted idly about what was to come.

About an hour after the adults had left, a second house-elf appeared in the hospital wing, this one carrying a cloth-wrapped parcel.

"Professor McGonagall is wishing me to bring this to young master Draco Black," the elf squeaked.

"That's me," Draco said, reaching out to accept the bundle. "Thank you." The elf nodded and disappeared once more, and Draco carefully unwrapped the cloth to reveal the little wooden box.

"Is that it?" Harry asked breathlessly.

"Yeah. No idea how to open it, though," Draco replied. "Lotte, want to take a look? It's covered in runes." Hermione accepted the box and held it up, studying it closely. Her face settled into a frown, and her expression didn't change during the long minutes she spent examining the box.

"What is it, Herms?" Ginny asked once Hermione had finally set the box down.

"It…it doesn't make sense," Hermione replied. "Half the runes I don't recognize at all, and the others…well, the others just spell a simple unlocking charm."

"You mean like _Alohomora?"_ Harry asked.

"Exactly like _Alohomora,"_ Hermione said. "But if this is really what we think it is, why is there so little protection on the box?"

"Maybe because the protection spells on the trapdoor were so intricate, Voldemort didn't think he needed to do the same to the box?" Ginny suggested, though her tone said quite plainly that she didn't believe her own words.

"I think we should take this to Professor Babbling," Hermione said.

"Who?" Harry asked.

"Professor Babbling, Harry – she teaches Ancient Runes. If anyone can tell us what these runes mean for sure, it's her."

"Well I'm not going anywhere anytime soon," Draco said, jerking his head towards Madam Pomfrey's office. "She'll murder me if I so much as get out of bed."

"A bit counterproductive to you getting better, but you have a point," Harry joked.

"Why don't Hermione and I go while Harry, you stay here with Draco?" Ginny suggested. "We both know Professor Babbling since we both take her class, and we'll probably be back faster if everyone involved knows a little rune-speak." The trio agreed with Ginny's idea, and the girls left at once.

"Any ideas about your wand?" Draco asked once the girls were gone. Harry shook his head.

"Not in the slightest. Why would the wands react like that? And why did you ask, anyway – do _you_ have an idea?"

"I do, but you're probably not going to like it," Draco admitted. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Go on."

"Back in the summer before first year, when we went to get our wands, Ollivander said something odd when your wand chose you, do you remember?"

"Vaguely," Harry replied, looking thoughtful as he tried to recall a conversation that had happened almost six years previously. "He said something about it being interesting that that particular wand chose me, because it…" He paused and gasped, his eyes widening in recognition. _"Because it had a brother."_

"A brother that he'd sold over fifty years ago, and that had done something significant ten years before you bought yours," Draco added.

"My wand and its brother share core feathers from the same phoenix," Harry murmured, still looking shocked. _"Brothers in arms will unite like has rarely been seen before_ – that was part of Trelawney's prediction yesterday, I remember. You don't think…"

"It's possible," Draco said quietly.

"Bloody hell." Harry flopped back against his pillows, his mind racing with these new thoughts. Could it really be true that his wand's brother belonged to _Voldemort?_

"I think we need to add a conversation with Ollivander to our to-do list for this summer," Harry finally said.

"What's that?" The girls had returned in time to catch Harry's last statement, and it was Hermione who asked after its meaning. Draco quickly explained their thoughts about the wands' unusual reaction.

"I think I'd want a new wand," Ginny said with a shiver. "Being wand brothers with Voldemort…"

"Never mind that," Harry said quickly, clearly not wanting to think about it anymore than Ginny did. "What did you two find out about the box?"

"It's just as we thought – a simple unlocking charm," Hermione said. "The other markings aren't really runes, per se, just strengthening symbols – the lock is too powerful for most people to open alone, but two or three of us should be able to do it easily."

"Let's wait until we're on the train," Harry said at once, nodding towards Fleur, who still sat with Bill, and Neville and Luna, who had just returned from a quick trip to the kitchens. "We'll be able to be alone there." The others agreed, and Draco carefully rewrapped the box for safekeeping.

The remaining days until the Hogwarts Express' departure passed quickly. Everywhere they went, the friends heard of someone else who had already left the school – the entirety of Wizarding Britain knew of Dumbledore's death by then, and many parents had pulled their children from Hogwarts as soon as they'd heard. Eloise Midgen had argued with her parents for three days just to be allowed to stay for the funeral, and there were rumors that her family was seriously considering leaving Britain altogether until the war was over.

"I don't want to go," Eloise said, angry tears welling up in her eyes as she and the other Gryffindor girls packed their trunks the night before the funeral. "I want to stay. I want to help. England…Hogwarts…they're my home."

"I don't want you to go either, but you have to be safe," Hermione soothed, drawing her friend into a hug. "And if you do go, we'll keep in touch via the D.A. coin – it's not much, but it's better than nothing, yeah?"

Dumbledore's funeral took place outside on the lawn beside the lake, and it seemed as though every magical person in Britain had come to pay respects – the golden chairs set up for the funeral-goers were all full, and a crowd even larger than that occupying the chairs stood on all sides of the seated guests. The mermaids and centaurs both paid tribute to the fallen headmaster, and a number of people made speeches. In Harry's opinion, the service was both far too long and far too impersonal – the ancient wizard presiding over it spoke at length of Dumbledore's many accomplishments, but the words and deeds felt so detached from the man who greeted them with nonsense words at start-of-term feasts and who favored the names of sweets as passwords. The only part of the funeral that stirred any sort of emotion was the moment Dumbledore's body, which had been placed on a table at the front of the crowd, was encased in a magnificent tomb of white marble, Fawkes the phoenix letting out a joyful cry before plunging into the flames surrounding it.

The Hogwarts Express departed immediately after the funeral – Harry, Draco, Hermione, and their friends all elected to take the train home rather than Apparate back with their parents, desperate for the semblance of normalcy the ride would bring. Sirius agreed to pick them up at Kings Cross later that evening and Disapparated, leaving the teenagers to find a compartment a little more than halfway down the train.

"Things are going to be a bit different next year, aren't they?" Harry said as they stowed their trunks in the overhead racks.

"Is McGonagall taking over as Headmistress?" Draco asked. "She was Deputy Head, after all."

"I would think so," Hermione said as she dropped into an empty seat. "We'll need a new head for the Order as well."

"Can we just…not think about any of that for now?" Ginny asked, sounding exhausted. "We'll be busy enough ironing out the details of this, that, and the other thing over the summer. Draco, do we know when we're going to Tracey's yet?"

"Not yet, but hopefully soon – we both want to get it over with, so Tracey's going to contact me as soon as she can."

"Shall we take a look at the box?" Harry asked. "We do have quite a bit of time to kill."

"Can't hurt," Draco replied with a shrug. He pulled down his bag and extracted the box, placing it on the floor in the center of the compartment.

"All four of us, then?" Hermione nodded.

"I think that should be enough, yes," she said. They drew their wands.

"On three. One…two…three!"

_"Alohomora!"_

A soft but sharp _click_ echoed through the compartment, and the four friends looked at each other with nervous anticipation. The box was open…but were they prepared for what lay inside?

* * *

_Thus concludes part 6 - the story ends with part 7, 'Three, Four, Six, One'._

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for keeping you guys waiting - real life got in the way a lot more than I was expecting this week. To make up for it, I've given you two chapters tonight - the last chapter of this one, &amp; the first of part 7, which is going up in a few minutes. That story is called 'Three, Four, Six, One' - hope to see you all there!**

**Thank you all for the follows/faves/reviews, &amp; for reading! The stats on this series are both amazing &amp; humbling - I can only hope you've enjoyed reading this half as much as I've enjoyed writing it.**

**JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&amp;R, &amp; I'll see you in part 7! :)**


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